Haven
by Carolyn10
Summary: In the sprawling city of San Francisco in 1870, Jack's life is a living hell, but a chance encounter in an alley with Bobby Mercer just might save his life.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Haven

Rated: T for mature themes and language

Summary: In the sprawling city of San Francisco in 1870, a boy named Jack's life is a living hell, but a chance encounter in an alley with Bobby Mercer just might save his life.

Disclaimer: I do not own in part or in full any aspect of Four Brothers. The characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, its relevant partners and subsidiaries. I do own all original aspects of this fanfiction including but not limited to original characters and plot. This fanfiction has been published at no profit, purely for the enjoyment of the fans and the collective good of the franchise.

Author's Notes: Saw the movie, loved the characters and have been thinking about them ever since... which usually leads to fanfic. Feedback, including suggestions for where to go with this story, is welcomed. Enjoy!

* * *

Jack looked furtively from behind the old water barrel where he had hidden himself a half hour earlier to see if his latest "father" would find him. San Francisco in 1870 was a dirty, sprawling mess of humanity, and what was one more waif among thousands? His bruised face did not distinguish him -- he had seen other such faces pass him by as he darted through alleys in his blind rush to get away from the pain and loneliness he had endured since the Pollard family had taken him in. He snorted in derision at the errant thought. The Pollards had not so much taken him in as gained a convenient outlet for their frustrations and a slave in all but name. If Jack read the situation correctly, the Pollards had deduced a further means to make money from their ward, one which Jack had dreaded for years now, and sought to avoid at all costs.

Slavery was illegal in California, had been since the start of the gold rush in '49, yet he had been bought and sold at least three times that he knew of. Well, traded or won truth be told. He had a vague recollection of his real parents. His strongest memory of them was when their desire for opium had ultimately won out over their feelings of parental obligation, and the first transaction in which Jack was used in lieu of gold occurred. That first man had used him as a servant of sorts, and only got cruel when he drank too much, which gained in frequency over the two years Jack lived with him. His next "owner" was both cruel and perverse. He also liked to gamble, and Jack had been lost in a hand of cards. The winner was man with a wife and a family, and for a shining instant, hope stirred in Jack that things might finally be better for him.

The existence of a family just made for more fists, switches and belts available to teach the boy his duties and his manners. There were other boys like him working the ranch where he spent over three years. Jack had learned to cuss, to fight, to steal and more about ranching than he had ever wanted to know. He wasn't sure exactly how he was transferred to the Pollards, but the couple was destined for the big city of San Francisco, and so here Jack was, in a strange town, sore from a fresh beating, exhausted from remaining awake through the night, and terrified that Mr. Pollard was going to rent him out to strangers to do with as they pleased.

If he could just find someplace to rest safely for a time... if he could only cure his soul-draining exhaustion, maybe he could get strong enough to escape in earnest. He was finally old enough not to attract undue attention on his own, and in such a big city, he just might be able to get free. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to place too much hope in those crazy thoughts. Free? Safe? Those words were as big a fantasy as a loving family and a real home.

* * *

"You gonna sit there all day or what, kid?"

Jack jerked backwards, flattening himself against the rough boards of the building beside which he had crouched, failing to hide a flinch as the bruises on his back impacted with the wall. He must have dozed off when he shut his eyes, since this stranger was practically on top of him and Jack hadn't heard a thing. _Stupid!_ He looked squarely at the boots of the man who stood in front of him, not wanting risk meeting this stranger's eyes. The voice had sounded irritated. Not yet enraged, but Jack didn't know how short this guy's path from irritated to enraged was.

"N-no sir, sorry sir," he stuttered, keeping his eyes low, but taking in the dusty pants and leather strings tying down a holster to the stranger's thigh. The hand resting on the butt of the Colt Peacemaker in that holster did not move, but Jack could see the man's fingers relax. He released the breath he had caught on seeing the gun and quickly assessed his situation. Unless the man moved back a few steps, Jack would have to push past him to leave his hiding spot. He had not strayed far enough from where the Pollards were staying, not having the strength to run far. If Mr. Pollard were looking diligently for him -- and Jack was certain he was -- this stranger was calling too much attention to his inadequate hiding spot. He had to find a way to get the man to move along.

His eyes returned to the man's gun hand again to see if he remained relaxed, looking more closely this time. The man's hands were bruised and swollen, with small healing cuts visible across the knuckle bones. Jack's breath caught again and he inadvertently raised his eyes to the stranger's.

* * *

Bobby Mercer smirked when he saw the ragged kid hiding behind the old barrel. The kid didn't seem to know it, but he was crouched over a pile of old piss. Bobby had stepped out of the saloon intending to quickly relieve himself in the very same spot, not wanting to leave Angel alone too long while he was working one of his games inside. Just a few days earlier, he had stepped away to chat up a new working girl when things had soured far too quickly. The fight was short and relatively easy, Bobby having handled Angel's mark with his bare fists, but the games dried up shortly thereafter, and he had to listen to his brother moaning for the rest of the day. Just once, he would like to get thanked first and then bitched at later.

Bobby frowned when he got a better look at the kid, who had seemed to be dozing in place at first, but was now fairly vibrating with anxiousness. The kid glanced to the end of the alley then back to Bobby's boots and up to his gun. The boy's face was bruised, and if Bobby had read that grimace correctly, the bruises didn't stop there.

The kid got markedly more anxious after a long look at his gun hand. Bobby looked down at himself and saw the same bruised hands which he nearly always did. Rarely a day went by in this fucking overcrowded shit hole that someone's face didn't beg for a firm application of his knuckles. He was more than happy to accommodate them. Soon enough, he would be back home with Ma and Jerry, both of whom frowned on his fighting skills. Ma had had much better luck reforming Jeremiah, and he joined her in trying steer him towards living a good Christian life. Angel, however, was a different story. Angel had a different set of morals. He had seen Bobby's potential and promised his older brother a cut of his winnings if he acted as Angel's muscle during his brother's hustles and cons. Speaking of which... he really needed to take a piss so he could get back to his brother.

He looked down at the kid crouched right where he meant to go and saw a pair of terrified eyes meeting his own. _Shit._ He knew that look -- had worn in himself for the too many years before he lived with Ma and his brothers, before constant love had changed the terror to confidence, before his bad ass reputation was made and his physical menace drove that look into others' eyes. But these eyes were far too young for the gaze shining back at him.

"Shit," Bobby said aloud. Ma's lessons about not unduly frightening children had certainly taken hold.

"Please...," the kid whispered.

Bobby's frown deepened at the soft words and he shook his head. He must be getting soft if a ragged street urchin had him reflecting on the bad old days of his youth and regretting giving the kid a fright. He sighed and moved to the other side of the barrel to finally relieve his aching bladder.

"Jesus, I'm not going to hurt you, kid," he muttered as he unbuttoned his pants. He kept one eye on the boy and saw confusion, then relief, then a renewed anxiety pass across his face. _Huh._ Maybe it wasn't the legend of Bobby Mercer which had terrified the kid. _Something_ sure had him unnerved, though.

The kid glanced towards the far end of the alley, back up at Bobby, then bolted. He had nearly reached the end of the alley when a finely dressed man appeared and latched onto the boy's arm. Bobby watched as the kid was clipped under the chin by the man, dazing him, then dragged the length of the alley past Bobby. That man's punch was far too smooth not to be well-used.

The man glared threateningly at Bobby, who had buttoned his pants by now and stood observing the drama unfolding in the alley. Bobby met the man's stare with one of his own, and it was the man who looked away first. He turned his attention to the boy. The kid managed a half-lucid glance at Bobby before he was dragged around the near corner and out of sight.

Bobby strode back into the saloon to watch Angel's back, praying that someone would give him a reason to unleash the violence now flowing through him. He needed to prove he wasn't soft, and he needed to prove it soon. Because Bobby Mercer was certainly not being affected by a chance encounter with a ragged kid in a piss-filled alleyway. He gleefully joined a bar fight later that evening, Angel's "business" being long over by then, and pounded at least five men into unconsciousness.

Much later, Bobby was mildly drunk, both sore and exhausted from the fight, and he was lying in a pretty decent feather bed for a saloon: all of which should have sent him straight to sleep. But those damned eyes wouldn't leave him alone. Every time he closed his eyes he could see that fucking kid with that damned expression on his terrified face. Bobby punched his pillow and shifted onto his back, deciding to head back home the following day. This fucked up city was doing weird things to him.

He was _not_ getting soft.

* * *

Around the same time, not far from where Bobby lay, Jack buried his face in a musty pillow, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed. The pain and the servitude he experienced with the Pollards were bad enough. He had been foolish to imagine that would be the worst he would endure. The humiliation now added to his overflowing plate of misery was almost more than he could bear.

Next time he ran, he wouldn't stop.


	2. Chapter 2

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

_

* * *

__"You looking for a good time?"_

* * *

Bobby Mercer was going to kill his younger brother Angel. Wrap his hands around his neck and choke the life out of him. With a smile on his face. Which would last until he made it back home to Ma, who would probably miss the stupid shit enough to get sad about Angel being dead. Which meant that Angel was one lucky shit. Bobby hated when his Ma got sad.

He breathed a long, measured sigh and turned to face his younger brother, eyes narrowed. Angel always spent a bit more than he should on clothes and stupid little accessories like watch fobs and tie pins. Angel said those things made him look smarter, more acceptable. Here in San Francisco, with just about every third face a Chinese one, a good looking smartly-dressed negro was more accepted than elsewhere in the country. That was one of the refreshing changes the Mercer family had experienced upon moving out west. The war hadn't magically changed everyday attitudes overnight, no matter what the government said. Hatred of negroes was alive and well, and the Mercers were just odd enough a family to attract the wrong sort of attention. With everyone bitching about being overrun by the Chinese who had worked on the transcontinental railroad and then forgot to go home afterwards, a white woman raising two black sons along with a white one wasn't enough to get anyone too excited. Hell, for all Bobby knew, people probably thought she was keeping Angel and Jerry as slaves. Bobby took great delight in violently correcting that misapprehension. Angel and Jerry were his brothers. Period. He could mock them all he wanted about being black, but God help anyone else who tried.

Angel was shoveling his breakfast into his mouth at a rapid pace, making all the noises which would have gotten their mother's dander up at home. Angel had spent the least time in the tender care of Evelyn Mercer, and so allowances could be made for his less than stellar table manners. This was just disgusting, though. If the fool hadn't spent an hour shaving his damned head and dressing his damned self up like a peacock, he might have had more time to eat before the proprietor kicked them out. The owner of the saloon was taking a chance on feeding them at all, Sunday Laws being in effect and compelling him to close for the day. But the extra business he had seen whenever the pair of Mercer boys were in town had given him the courage to flout the law. The Elixir had been around for a little over 12 years, and the owner, Hugh Mooney, was honest enough a businessman so that local authorities pretty much left him alone. Bobby secretly thought there were some palms being greased, but as he was not averse to his own palm being greased from time to time, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Angel Mercer was charming, good looking and played a hell of a game of Faro. He could switch the game to Brag, Monte or any number of dice games if the crowd asked for them. People genuinely liked playing with Angel, and he was smart enough to let them win every now and then so they would come back for more. Hugh Mooney had paid very close attention to Angel Mercer and his "brother" Bobby when they first started setting up shop at a back table in The Elixir. Once he saw the increase in patrons, as well as the decrease in trouble when Bobby Mercer was nearby, he made it a point to welcome the boys with open arms whenever they were in town. His little corner of San Francisco may not have been the cleanest or the prettiest, but it was turning out to be a lot of fun. He tried, mostly successfully, to keep the seedier aspects of the saloon business out. He had no stomach for opium and other drugs, and he always made sure his saloon girls weren't too young. The Mercers liked to drink, and Bobby might be a little too quick to use his fists, but they were kind enough to his girls, rarely engaged in gunplay, and always paid their bill. A proprietor couldn't really ask for much more than that in such a rowdy town.

* * *

Angel was trying his best to meet Bobby's angry stare without rolling his eyes. It wasn't his fault that they remained stuck in town days after Bobby had suddenly insisted they leave. Five days earlier, Bobby had furiously eaten his breakfast while ranting about what a fucked up city San Francisco was, and how it was doing strange things to him. Bobby had promptly demanded that Angel cancel any further plans in the city and leave with him that morning. A smirk and a flippant answer had not been the correct response from Angel. He had managed his eggs and coffee after that, but the lovely ham steak was just too hard to chew with a sore jaw. Seems Bobby really did want out of the city.

The livery manager, visited after breakfast that day, avoided Bobby's fists by virtue of being twice his brother's size, and by showing genuine remorse at the state of Marauder's abscessed hoof -- Marauder being Bobby's black gelding, twice as bad tempered as his owner but one hell of a horse. Angel thought that animal just might be tied for first place alongside Ma in Bobby's affections, fickle as they were. Bobby professed to love his brothers, too, but never hesitated to pop either Jerry or himself when his temper got the best of him. Ma claimed that Bobby was _much_ more even-tempered than he had been, which Angel thought was bullshit, but smiled at how Ma defended all of them from censure. She had stood up for him enough times, he supposed she could do the same for Bobby, too. Speaking of whom. . .

"Maybe that nasty old horse of yours will be better today?" he offered across the breakfast table between bites. No way could Bobby continue to blame Angel for his horse's hoof problem. Angel's delight in remaining at The Elixir for five more lucrative days had not gone over well with his brother. Angel had never even _seen_ Bobby's horse since they arrived, but Bobby seemed to want to blame their delay on Angel anyway. Angel gave Bobby half of whatever he made with his gaming, and it wasn't like his brother to turn down easy cash.

"Hmmph," was Bobby's impatient response. Angel scooped up the last bit of eggs from his plate, and swallowed them with the remainder of his coffee. He waved at Hugh and followed Bobby out into the street, hefting his saddle bags over his shoulder. The livery was three blocks away. Bobby strode through the streets, seemingly still as anxious to leave as he had been days earlier. Angel would try to talk to Bobby about what was bothering him when they reached the privacy of the long stretches between towns on the way home. Especially if the long ride helped Bobby calm down a bit. He still seemed on the verge of violence, and Angel had no interest in having it directed at himself.

On reaching the livery, Bobby reached over for Angel's bags and they parted company. Bobby headed for the horses, and Angel to the manager to pay their bill. The long, U-shaped building was not the newest or the best in town, but the farrier there was exceptional, and Bobby insisted on the best for Marauder. Angel was a bit less attached to his own horse, whom he had called Lucky. The name didn't really suit the horse, and he figured he ought to come up with a better name, but nothing had really hit him as being right. It would be something to ponder if Bobby remained tight-lipped on the ride home.

The Mercers always housed their horses near the farthest corner of the U. The stalls were more sheltered than the front stalls, and offered a bit of privacy for other sorts of things. Angel grinned as he recalled the time he had spent half the night back there with Melina, one of the girls who worked at The Elixir. She had a passing resemblance to his best girl Sofi, and made him miss Sofi a bit less when he was away from her in the city. Angel didn't think it was being unfaithful when you were separated by so many miles from your girl. He was sure Sofi would understand if she ever found out.

He had to search a bit before finding the manager, who was outside in the open corral adjacent to the stables. A chestnut horse was bucking and whinnying up a storm while a man chased it in circles. The manager gave Angel a quick roll of the eyes before heading into the corral to help with the clearly terrified horse. The horse's owner was shouting and trying to toss a rope around the horse's neck, failing miserably each time, and more often than not landing flat on his face. The man was dressed far too nicely to be landing in the dirt like that. Angel grinned at the unexpected show. Bobby might be anxious as hell to leave, but even he would find this amusing. Besides, if Angel was delayed long enough, he knew his brother would get Lucky (or whatever that horse really ought to be named) ready and spare Angel a bit of work. Hell, he might work out some of his aggressions at the same time.

* * *

Bobby marched back to the stalls which held Marauder and Angel's horse. Fool brother of his couldn't even give the animal a real name, so Bobby referred to him as Angel's horse. Jerry did, too, but Ma called the horse whatever Angel did. The poor animal had had three names so far, none of which were right for him. It was just another quirky thing about his brother which drove everyone a little crazy, but made them love him just a bit more at the same time.

_Fuck!_ Why in hell was he thinking about his brother's lovable quirks? He was turning into a fucking fairy. What the fuck kind of man was Bobby Mercer becoming in this city that he thought _anything_ kindly about his idiot of a younger brother. The fool was great at making money, that was true, but he sucked at knowing when the game was turning sour, spent his money irrationally, ate like an animal, and was going to get his dick cut off by an angry woman one of these days. Bobby sighed and dropped his and Angel's bags outside the stall door which held the horses.

"You looking for a good time?"

The voice startled Bobby, but he made no outward sign of having been surprised. He turned slowly to meet the owner of the voice. He had thought he was the only person in the livery. It was Sunday, right around church-going time, but he and Angel were skipping today. He supposed the offer was appropriate, given that the type of person amenable to a quick roll in an empty livery stall on a Sunday morning would likely not want to be seen by good church-going folk. He moved towards the voice, squinting into the semi-darkness of the corner-most stall and could just make out two figures in there. The closer one was taller than Bobby, and held a shorter person slightly behind him by the arm. Ahh, so this was a professional proposition. The man typically got the money while little lady did all the work. If Bobby thought too much about it, he would have thought that unfair, but sometimes needs were needs, and a whore would do just fine. Bobby was never cruel to working girls. The big man took Bobby's momentary scrutiny as interest, and pulled his companion out from the unlit corner of the stall into the light.

Bobby felt every drop of blood in his body freeze solid, right before it began to boil. _Holy fucking HELL._ Not four feet in front of him, just on the other side of the stall door was that kid he had seen in the alley. That fucking kid whose bruised face and false bravado had been the source of Bobby's misery for days now. God had to be punishing him for skipping Sunday services after he promised his Ma he would go. No other explanation could possibly account for seeing the kid again. Shit like this just didn't happen! The man gripping the boy's arm was the same one who had smacked the kid and hauled him out of the alley, ending what Bobby presumed was a bid for freedom by the kid. Which meant that the man was _offering_ the kid to Bobby. Jesus Christ. Bobby didn't know how he could feel so cold when his blood had to be at a full boil in his veins.

Bobby glanced at the boy. The kid was still bruised, perhaps a bit more than the last time Bobby had seen him. The kid's eyes were riveted on the door which stood between him and Bobby. There was a terrible sense of dread and of inevitability rolling off the kid in waves, pouring out of those damned fucking eyes. How could the man not _feel_ it? Bobby thought that his boiling blood might explode from his own skin if those eyes met his. Just like when he had first seen it in the alley, he _knew_ that look. Knew exactly what it meant. Knew fully why it resonated so strongly with him.

"He's not fresh, but I've had no complaints."

The man's words tore Bobby's eyes from the boy's and he looked at the man. His eyes narrowed and his hands curled into fists. Bobby Mercer was going to have a good time alright, just not the kind that fucker expected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

_"You looking for a good time?"_

* * *

Jack kept his eyes solidly fixed on the battered pieces of wood which shielded him -- for the moment anyway -- from the man Pollard was addressing. Pollard's hand held his upper arm in a vice-like grip, having learned the hard way that Jack needed to be restrained if he was to be kept. Jack couldn't bear to look at the man outside the stall, to see an initially kind mien twist into one of lust or of cruelty. Or worse, to see no kindness at all but only the need to dominate or humiliate. Pollard had a knack for finding just such men, and had brazenly haggled with these men right in front of Jack. Pollard had deftly bargained for gold or paper money or silver, not caring that Jack heard every word and now knew just what he was worth.

The first man, whom Jack had tried to run from, had priced him very highly. "Freshness" was a commodity in San Francisco, and Jack was fresh. Had been fresh. He would never be fresh again, so he was worth less now. Less and less as the bruises accumulated on his face and his body. The fourth man had demanded an inspection of the goods prior to agreeing on the deal. Pollard had happily complied, and the bruises had multiplied on Jack's skin in the compliance. That had cost Pollard a few silvers in the bargain, and had cost Jack more bruises afterwards. Jack had contemplated that when he was alone. If he was beaten badly enough, perhaps he would be worthless? He tormented Pollard into beating him when next he came for Jack, hoping it would be bad enough to make him as worthless as he now felt.

It was not to be. The ninth man had enjoyed the bruises, and wanted to see more blooming on Jack's skin. The twelfth man had not asked about freshness at all, but still had paid gold for his time with Jack. Somehow, the way that one had stroked Jack's face afterwards was worse than any of the bruises.

Jack's stare bored into the wooden panels which made up the corral door. He tried not to wish that number thirteen would be any different. Wishing for the best only meant he would once again be disappointed at the levels of cruelty and depravity towards which humankind could stoop. And for what? Slaking one's lust? Expending one's excess energy? Working off one's disappointment on a boy who had had nothing to do with the disappointment to begin with? Spending a bit of gold to satisfy one's curiosity? None of them had thought beyond their own selfish needs or wants. Why should the next man be any different?

He needed an escape, and since the grip on his arm did not slacken, physical escape was impossible. No, he needed to send his mind elsewhere. If he let himself truly _know_ what was happening to him, he would go mad. If he were only half aware, not really _present_, then maybe, just maybe, he would survive this encounter. Jack reminded himself again not to hope. Never to hope.

Instead, he focused on the door, imagined the wood transforming itself. In his mind's eye, he saw what was now a poorly constructed corral door as it became thicker, the knots and whorls in the wood expanding and filling in the dents where countless hooves had left their marks of rage. _Don't think of rage! _The slats pushed up and away from the rusted hinges and now free from metal constraints, curved outwards and back, into a protective shield. A shield which wound its way around Jack's battered body and oh, so weary soul. The wood could be broken or hewn apart -- after all, it was only wood, not metal or steel. But for just a few moments, he would be safe. Safe from eyes and hands. Safe from anger and lust. Safe from men who _should_ have taken care of him but who instead had sold him and used him. Safe from thoughts of how much less he would be worth after number thirteen finished with him.

What would happen when his value reached nothing?

* * *

_"He's not fresh, but I've had no complaints."_

* * *

Bobby Mercer reckoned he had been born fighting. For a long time, it had been a single-minded pursuit. Frequent practice of his fighting technique had given him a sense of self-worth. No matter what else he accomplished in his life, he knew that he had a nearly unmatched gift for pugilism. It had kept him alive for years, made him money, made him a fucking _legend _in some circles. He could now tell instinctually where a man's sweet spot was -- whether a jab to the solar plexus, a round house to the head, or a sucker punch straight at the nose would lay out any particular target. He was not above a kick in the balls if the situation warranted it. Bobby Mercer was unpredictable that way, which only added to his well-earned reputation.

Bobby rarely lost a fight. One part of his success rate was knowing when an adversary was simply too much for him to handle. The farrier outside was one example. The man's sheer body mass would prove hard to penetrate with fists or even boots. Bobby had seen the man shake off a solid kick from a bucking horse which would have killed another man. That had earned Bobby's respect, and his business whenever he was in town. If ever there was a free-for-all in town, Bobby wanted that man on his side. He would only fight a man like that if he was desperate, or really, _really_ drunk.

The other key to Bobby's pugilistic success was to avoid fighting with too much emotion. Cold fists were accurate, deadly fists. Nothing fucked up a fight like your own head getting in the way. Of course, having all your screwed up, previously buried childhood memories rush to the forefront did _nothing_ to help keep a cool head. Bobby wanted nothing more than to burst through the corral door and rip the stranger's fucking throat out with his bare hands. He unclenched his fists and pressed his hands against his thighs, willing them to relax. _Cool reasoning... cool reasoning... cool reasoning..._ he chanted in his head. _Think, you asshole._ Right. Not so cool, that.

He stepped closer to the door and looked at the kid again. He was still bruised. Still leaning away from the man's grip on his arm. Still trembling. Still staring at something only he could see with an intensity that chilled Bobby. Good. Bobby needed that coldness, needed to banish the fire burning in his gut. He would be less than useless if he couldn't get control of himself. The man in the stall was no lightweight.

Bobby wished that Jerry were here. Hell, he wished Angel would hurry the fuck up and show up. The presence of either of his younger brothers would give him that cool clarity he so desperately needed now. His desire to protect them would slam the doors shut on his crazy emotions. He could always lose his shit later on. Right now, he needed to calm down. But seeing his own face, his own past, written all over the kid's face was just _too fucking much_ for him to handle.

When the kid's face suddenly went blank, Bobby lost the battle to control his raging temper and strode purposefully into the stall.

At least he had the presence of mind to pull the kid out of man's grip and push him into the near corner, at Bobby's back, before Bobby threw his first wild, emotion-filled punch.

* * *

Jack's reverie was interrupted -- violently.

One moment he had just about willed himself into an impenetrable shell, ready for whatever number thirteen would dish out. No. Not _ready_. Never ready. Just... not as vulnerable as he had been those other times. Some tiny spark inside him wanted him to survive this. There was a little bubble of hope left in him which refused to be extinguished, which yearned for something better than what life had given him thus far.

That spark, or bubble, or whatever it was had expanded and nearly stolen his breath when he realized what had just happened... what was happening now.

The man Pollard had been propositioning had pushed through the unlatched door and entered the stall, pulled Jack behind him and started throwing punches. At Pollard. _Not_ at Jack. Jack watched, transfixed, as Pollard brought his arms up to defend his face, only to have his midsection become the new target. Bending over to protect his middle only revealed the expanse of Pollard's back.

The stranger was speaking to Pollard as he swung his fists.

"How fucking _dare_ you. He's just a kid. Fucking no good piece of trash. _Ass_hole. How fucking _DARE_ you do that to him. You don't _do_ that to kids. See how it feels, you motherfucking piece of _shit_..."

Jack's heart was beating so fast, it felt like it might fly straight out of his body. After all his years of misery, after the past five days of sheer hell on earth, his hopes had not been in vain. This man was _fighting_ for him, was beating up Pollard for _him._ A crease of a smile bloomed on his face.

The stranger had backed Pollard into the opposite corner of the stall, where most of the hay was piled, and continued to pummel him wildly, missing as many punches as he landed. Pollard had begun to fight back, and had managed a few solid blows of his own.

Jack's smile disappeared.

The stranger was far too wild in his efforts. Jack saw the blood on Pollard's face, but Pollard was still mostly upright, and dodging the blows more effectively now. He watched with horror as Pollard twisted sharply away from an erratically thrown punch, and clipped the stranger on the chin, the very move which had stunned Jack so many times.

Sure enough, the man wobbled backwards and fell heavily into the side of the stall next to where Jack stood frozen in place. _Oh God._ Jack finally recognized him as the man from the alley, the one who was trying to piss where Jack was hidden. His appearance had frightened Jack, but he had done nothing to hurt him. Jack could still recall the look on the stranger's face when Pollard had been dragging him down the alley. That look of shocked comprehension was what had kept Jack's spark of hope alive. The spark he tried so hard to deny. The stranger had been bothered by Pollard's rough treatment of Jack. For a moment, Jack was able to think that he just might not deserve this life.

Pollard derisively spat a mouthful of blood at the man, then straightened his disheveled clothing.

"Fucking lunatic," Pollard breathed, glaring at the dazed stranger. His eyes moved to Jack and narrowed. "Come on, you're clearly not wanted here. We'll have better luck near the worker's boarding house." Pollard moved over to the stranger and bent down, reaching for the gun at the man's belt.

Jack closed his eyes for the length of a single breath. _Breathe in._ In that moment, he saw what lay in store for him: more cruelty, more pain, more degradation and the utter destruction of the hope which had so newly blossomed in his chest. Jack recalled the words the stranger had spat and growled at Pollard during the fight. He remembered the startled look on the man's face in the alley. He remembered how this man had pulled Jack behind him before launching himself at Pollard. This stranger had shown more concern about Jack with that gesture than Pollard had in months, or likely ever would, and now Pollard was going to kill him? _Breathe out._

"NO!"

Jack launched himself towards Pollard, the suddenness and ferocity of the movement landing all three of them in a tangle of arms and legs. Almost as quickly as he had landed among them, Jack sprang back away from the two men, backing into the far corner of the stall. He would not be going anywhere near the worker's boarding house. He would not be going anywhere at all with Pollard. Ever. Again. He had been given a taste of hope and it had taken firm hold in him. He had promised himself that the next time he ran he wouldn't stop. He planned to keep that promise.

He cocked the stranger's gun, raised it with trembling arms and aimed it straight at Pollard's heart.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

Note: this is a bit short, but the story is rolling, and who am I to stop progress? )

* * *

Bobby came back to awareness with a sore jaw, sore knuckles and a bellyful of regret. The sore jaw and knuckles were familiar enough sensations, they were his near constant companions. The regret, though stuck bitterly in his throat and burned nearly as hot as his anger had such a short while ago.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Bobby Mercer had entered a fight for all the _right_ reasons. He wasn't burning off anger or frustrations over petty things like an annoying encounter with a stranger or a romantic rejection. He hadn't been separating a fat salesman from his fat wallet, or dusting up in a barroom brawl merely for the joy of testing his muscles. He hadn't been protecting Angel, who was more than capable of protecting himself if need be. No. Bobby had sought to right an honest-to-God wrong.

The sheer nobility of his actions should have seen him victorious. Weren't the good guys supposed to prevail at times like this? The irony of his situation added another roiling layer of bile to his churning stomach. He had won so many fights for all the _wrong_ reasons, God probably decided it was time for Bobby Mercer to learn humility.

Bobby shook his head to banish the disrespectful thought and try to clear his mind before a lightning bolt got launched at his blasphemous head. He was lucky Ma prayed for his soul as often as she did, since he was long overdue for a lightning bolt at the rate he was going. He hadn't dared open his eyes yet, but knew he had to get his ass in gear before Angel came and found him lying in a heap. For once, Bobby didn't care what had distracted his younger brother for so long and kept his lazy ass from helping with the horses. He could come up with an explanation for the bruises he carried so his brother need not know of his shamefully weak performance. _Why_ couldn't he have held it together when it counted most? Hell, maybe he would run into that asshole on their way out of town and the stakes could even themselves in Bobby's favor. Maybe he could still save that poor kid from continued hell on earth.

Bobby's breath hitched as he inhaled. He had really wanted to get that kid away from the bastard. They were probably halfway across town by now, and Bobby doubted the man would make the mistake of offering the kid to anyone with a conscience next time. San Francisco had enough depraved souls hidden throughout its streets that the man would have no further troubles from noble fools like Bobby.

Bobby knew he wouldn't be able to forget the kid's eyes for a very, very long time, if ever. They had haunted him for five days after a chance encounter in an alley. Bobby hadn't known then why the kid had looked so frantic. He knew now. Jesus, but he knew now. Knew and hadn't been able to use the only fucking skill he possessed to do more than make a fool out of himself in front of a depraved asshole. If only...

With a sigh, Bobby pushed himself away from the wall and moved to stand, freezing in place at the sight which met his eyes. _What the hell?_

His hand scrabbled towards his now empty holster, finding nothing. He stupidly looked down to confirm what he already knew... his gun was no longer in his holster, but was in the hands of the kid, and aimed at the fucking asshole he had fought. Bobby smiled.

Damn! It looked the good guys just might win today after all.

* * *

Jack watched dispassionately as the front of Pollard's trousers grew wet when the man realized the threat Jack posed to his continued existence. The other man, Jack's would-be savior, had roused slightly during Jack's mad scramble for the gun, and now seemed to be coming around. It had only been a few minutes since Pollard had struck him, which added to Jack's esteem of him. Jack was always woozy for hours after blows like the one Pollard had delivered.

Pollard had opened and closed his mouth several times already, probably thinking of and discarding notions of what he might say to the boy he had tortured so badly for so long. Jack couldn't think of a single thing Pollard could say to him right now which would save his worthless life. Jack kept his gaze and his aim locked on his tormentor. He didn't smile, nor did he frown. He merely waited, and watched. He watched the fear burgeon in Pollard's eyes, saw the urine stain spread outwards from his crotch and travel down his thighs. Watched the big man raise his hands, open and close his mouth, and finally let loose a whimper.

Still Jack waited. The gun was steady now in his hands. What should have been too much weight was easily borne in his nimble fingers. The power he suddenly had over his own fate lent strength to his arms. His exhaustion, his pain and his anguish were all forgotten, tamped down to be felt again and handled later. _After._ But after what? Jack didn't know how he wanted this to end. Killing Pollard should be the easiest thing in the world for him to do right now, but he hadn't done it yet. _Why?_

Jack heard the downed man let loose a sigh, and saw him raise himself off the floor of the stall, using the wall as leverage. He saw the man reach for the gun which should have been in his holster, take in the scene in front of him, then let loose with a smile that had Jack's own lips curling upwards, if only a little bit.

Pollard finally found his voice and spoke of changed circumstances for Jack. Better clothes, better food, a real bed instead of a piece of the floor. He apologized for not splitting the gold Jack had earned with him, and swore to rectify the unequal treatment as soon as Jack lowered the gun. Right. His face must have betrayed his disbelief, since Pollard shut his mouth with a snap.

* * *

Bobby's smile broadened when he saw the expression on the boy's face. God help him, but the kid would make a hell of a Mercer. He was beat up, exhausted, had been violated and abused, yet was standing calmly in front of a man twice his size with a smirk on his bruised face and a stolen gun in his hands. Bobby wouldn't take on the kid himself right now, and the kid sure had the other man cowed. The piss-stained fool was blathering on about percentages and hot meals and all the reasons why the kid shouldn't kill him, and Bobby caught the slightest hint of an eye roll from the boy. It was just too much. Bobby couldn't help it. He started to laugh. He laughed so hard he wheezed. The kid gave him a look like he was crazy. _Jesus, he was smart, too!_ One hell of a Mercer, indeed.

"You think this is funny?" This from the asshole.

"Fucking hilarious," Bobby confirmed with a chuckle.

"You're both insane. _Fucking insane!_" the man shrieked as he made a sudden move towards the gun. Ten minutes ago, it might have been a disaster, but Bobby had gained his equilibrium now. He smoothly captured the man's wrist and twisted it sharply up behind his back as he pushed the man face first into the back wall of the stall. Bobby bent the man's thumb back until his knees gave out and he dropped into the hay. He gave the man a solid cuff on the side of his head for good measure, drawing a soft whimper. More comfortable with their new positions, Bobby shifted his hold, both getting a firmer grip and permitting himself to turn and face the boy.

_Fuck._

The gun had not moved, but was held with trembling hands now. Those eyes, which had been mocking such a short time ago, had gone blank again. The boy was at the end of his rope. But he still had Bobby's gun, and judging from the look on his face, might not be able to distinguish friend from foe right now. _Shit, shit, shit._

"What's his name?" Bobby asked his captive. He got no immediate response, so twisted the man's arm sharply to get his attention.

"Please stop hurting me," the man whined.

"Tell me the kid's name. Now." Bobby wasn't about to promise the asshole anything.

"Jack. It's Jack. Hey, that hurts!"

"Shut your mouth or I'll rip your fucking arm off and gag you with it."

"But you can't just. . ."

Bobby used his leverage on the man's arm to pull him backwards far enough to get a clear shot at the man's jaw. The blow reverberated up Bobby's arm, but the pain was worth it as the man slumped to the floor of the now blessedly _quiet_ stall. Bobby needed the peace to calm his own nerves before he tried to approach the kid... Jack, who didn't realize the danger was past.

Bobby Mercer was actually going to have to use his powers of persuasion on another human being _without_ using his fists. Lord help him.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

**Author's Note:** This chapter got a bit heavy - please let me know if it's too much. Had to get the misery out of the way so the fun can begin. ;-)

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Bobby took a few minutes to examine the kid in front of him. It was a delaying tactic, yes, but he needed to get this right. Jack could shoot the asshole for all Bobby cared, but the noise would draw unwanted attention, and require explanations Bobby didn't want to give. Jack didn't need the scrutiny a gun shot would bring. Bobby knew what the kid needed, he just had to figure out how to get Jack to agree with him.

Jack's eyes remained fixed on the downed body of the man Bobby had fought. While he wasn't exactly catatonic, Bobby got the impression the kid wasn't really _there_ either. He was lost in a memory, and it probably wasn't a good one. Bobby absently wondered how many good memories the kid actually had. Judging by his appearance, the kid had been living a hard life for a while.

His hair looked like someone had cut it with a dull knife, and infrequently at that. He wore denim pants that were too short for him, barely covering the ugly scuffed up boots on his feet. The cuffs on his plaid shirt were torn, the buttons long gone. The shirt was too small for him and so very dirty. Only three buttons remained along the bottom of the front seam, leaving Jack's neck and chest exposed. Both old and new bruises were visible on his neck, chest, and face. Bobby concentrated for a moment on the boy's haunted blue eyes. Was there a bit more life in them now?

"You with me, buddy?" he tried.

Bobby heard Jack's breath hitch slightly, but otherwise the boy - and more importantly the gun - didn't move. Jack's arms were trembling now with the weight of the Colt. Bobby ran his hands through his own hair, wincing when the tangles rubbed against his cut and bleeding knuckles. He couldn't get to the bandages his saddle bags without moving past Jack so he settled for crossing his arms and stuffing his swollen hands under his armpits, letting his shirt soak up the blood.

He needed to start talking to Jack, but wasn't sure exactly what to say. Sympathy was out of the question. The kid didn't need Bobby or anyone else wailing "oh, poor you" or anything like that. That had always struck Bobby as disingenuous whenever it had been directed at him as a boy, and he never got an ounce of comfort from it. Ma could smother the kid with love and kindness and fucking rainbows of happiness if... _when_... he got the kid to return home with him and Angel. Pity had no place in Bobby's emotional make-up, and he wasn't about to conjure it out of thin air, scared kid with a gun or no scared kid with a gun.

And Bobby sure as hell wasn't going to blame Jack for the situation he was in, like the kid had any say in how he came to be in a darkened stall in a shitty stable in the bad part of Frisco with a man - possibly his father - who wanted to fucking rent Jack out by the hour. _Dammit._ Bobby took a deep breath to calm himself down. Anger wouldn't cut it here, either.

Whenever Bobby observed Angel starting up a game and cajoling bar patrons to join in, all the yammering Angel did sounded like happy horseshit to Bobby, but the customers seemed to eat it right up. Even the surliest of men would be smiling and jawing with his brother by the end of the night. Jerry was even better at talking than Angel was. Jerry could 'talk a dog off a meat wagon', as Ma always said. There was something about Jerry's soothing voice which could calm even Bobby's nerves. But Jerry wasn't here, nor was Angel, and skilled or not, Bobby needed to talk this kid out of wherever his head had taken him, get his gun back and then figure out what the hell to do next. Jack needed someone to help him right now, and the only someone available was Bobby Mercer. Abandoning thoughts of his more eloquent brothers, Bobby just began to speak.

"That was a pretty slick move, grabbing my gun, you know. Reminds me of something I might have done. 'Course, I would have probably shot the son of a bitch right off, not let him promise me a hot dinner, for fuck's sake. I mean, if a man was pointing a gun at you, and you were trying to get him to _stop_ pointing the gun at you, wouldn't you offer him something besides food? Fuck yes, you would because you're not a total blockhead like the asshole lying in the hay there. Me, I'd go straight for whores and gold. Ain't a man alive who wouldn't stop for at least a second or two to think about a whore, and gold, well, fuck, everyone needs more money. Fucking asshole offers you a fucking steak dinner. Like he wasn't the jackass who popped you in the mouth so you probably couldn't even chew his stupid fucking peace offering _please-don't-shoot-me_ steak dinner. Man, what I wouldn't give for another crack at splitting this guy's head open. I'd like to get my hands on a nice piece of firewood to do it with. You and me, we'd pick out a nice heavy one -- you know the kind you use when you want a fire to burn all night? -- and I'd hit him with the split side for maximum effect. Boom! He wouldn't be offering anyone a fucking steak dinner anytime soon. And what was that shit about giving you a blanket? Asshole should have given you a fucking bed, mattress, sheets AND a fucking blanket all along. This guy has to be the biggest asshole in Frisco. You are one of a kind Jackie boy, I'll give you that. I don't think I would have the self control to keep from pulling the trigger if I had the chance."

"I couldn't do it."

Bobby looked up, somewhat startled by the voice. During his rant, Bobby had shifted his focus to the still-unmoving body on the floor of the stall. Jack was looking at Bobby now, the haunted look gone from his eyes. He looked miserable, but at least he knew where he was now. Jack still held the gun, but it dangled from his right hand now, pointing safely at the barn floor.

_Well, how about that?_ Score one for Bobby Mercer's newly-acquired, non-violent, and clearly effective powers of persuasion.

* * *

When Pollard had lunged towards him, and Jack had done nothing except flinch away from him, despite holding a loaded gun in his hands, Jack reckoned that Pollard had well and truly broken him.

The gun had remained in his hands, pointed towards Pollard as the stranger had shouted in Pollard's face then knocked him out with a single devastating punch. It must have hurt his hand, but the man shook it off, just as he had shaken off Pollard's blow minutes before. Jack envied that sort of toughness. He yearned for it, so that maybe just once he could end up on top when the shit hit the fan. Even now, with a Colt Peacemaker in his hands, he was the weakest one in the stall. Pollard was _unconscious_, for God's sake, and he exuded more menace than Jack did.

He couldn't tear his eyes from Pollard as he contemplated how the man had changed Jack. Where his other guardians had failed, this man had succeeded. Jack had _always_ fought back before -- whether with words or with actions -- and despite the punishments that always followed, he had never been as thoroughly cowed as he was right now. Jack had the chance to finally pay Pollard back for all that he had done and let be done to Jack and instead, Jack had panicked. He had a _fucking loaded gun_ on his side, and he had panicked. And froze. He was still frozen, stuck in a loop of self-recrimination. God, why couldn't he _move_?

His reverie of self-pity was interrupted by a voice. It was the stranger, and he seemed to be speaking to himself while casting a murderous gaze down at Pollard. Surprisingly, the voice worked like a lifeline to drag Jack out of his memory-induced funk. Suddenly Jack could smell the old hay and horses, heard the distant whinnying of a maddened horse, muffled shouts from the corral and the continued tumble of words from the stranger. Jack lowered the too-heavy gun down to his side and focused on the stranger's words. The stranger was still angry, but Jack got the sense that angry was the status quo for him, and not necessarily a danger to Jack. For some reason, he was yelling about steak dinners and blankets but then he addressed Jack by name.

"… You are one of a kind Jackie boy, I'll give you that. I don't think I would have had the self control to keep from pulling the trigger if I had the chance." Well, that was just plain wrong. No need to have this brave stranger thinking he was something he was not. Better fix that notion now.

"I couldn't do it," Jack admitted sullenly. "I thought I'd be brave enough to do it, but I'm not."

"Bullshit!"

Jack actually took a step back at the man's shouted response. The man sure was angry, but still, Jack had the absolute sense that he was in no danger from the stranger. Still, better safe than sorry…

"Are you mad?"

"Fuck yes, I'm mad. I'm mad that stupid sons of bitches like this one roam the world. He should have been hit by a runaway stage years ago. What the fuck is his name, anyway?"

"Horace Pollard."

"He your father?"

"Fuck no."

The man grinned at his response, and Jack couldn't help but return the smile for a split second. He hadn't really received an answer to his question, though.

"Are you mad _at me_?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"Um…" Jack shifted from foot to foot now, wondering if he'd pushed the man too far. The man blew out a breath and spoke in a softer tone.

"Jack, I'm not mad at you. I am honest-to-God ready to rip someone's head off mad, but it's not at you, it's at him." He gestured to where Pollard remained unconscious. "Why don't you think you're brave?" he snapped back at Jack, who was taken aback at the quick change of subject.

"Because I'm not. I couldn't pull the trigger."

"Which makes you a goddamned genius, Jackie, that doesn't make you a coward. If you'd shot him, we would have been knee deep in deputies asking stupid questions right now. Me? I'm happy it worked out this way. Don't you see what a good decision that was? Jesus, you jumped in between two brawling men, lifted my gun and threatened Pollard into pissing himself. How the _hell_ is that not brave?"

"But you weren't fighting anymore. You were down, and Pollard was going to kill you, I know he was. I couldn't... I had to…"

Jack trailed off when he registered the look of utter shock on the man's face. He watched as every last bit of anger melted away, to be replaced by a look of disbelief.

"You did that for me?" The man's voice had dropped to a near whisper. He sounded incredulous. Jack nodded, frowning. Of course he did that. The stranger was strong and brave and tried to help Jack, who was on his way to being worth nothing. Jack couldn't let Pollard kill a man like this one. He just couldn't. The stranger met Jack's eyes and seemed to be searching them for _something_. Jack felt the weight of that stare and forced himself to hold it, understanding the gravity of the moment.

"Well, I'll be damned," the stranger breathed. Now the man was grinning like an idiot. "That settles it then. You're the bravest goddamned kid I've ever met, and so help me God, I'll thump anyone who says differently, yourself included. _No one_ but my family _ever_ did _anything_ like that for me."

"You stood up for me," Jack said simply. It really wasn't more complicated than that.

"Thank you, Jack."

Jack lowered his head as his cheeks flushed red.

"You _are _brave, Jackie. And I'm not just talking about today. You'd have to be pretty goddamned brave to get through all the shit you've seen in life. Especially from that stupid dick Pollard."

Jack ducked his head further, letting his unruly hair fall across his face, unable to stop the hot tears which had suddenly gathered in his eyes. _Oh God no._ Was his shame written so clearly on his face? The last thing he wanted was for this man to know anything about what Jack had done for the past week. His shame burned in his throat. Of course he knew, Pollard had fucking _offered_ Jack to the man not twenty minutes ago. He wrested control of his emotions and lifted his chin defiantly, unable to stop a few errant tears from trailing down his cheeks, but ignoring them.

He didn't trust his voice, so made a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't do that, Jackie. Don't brush it off like it was nothing. It's not nothing, what you've been through. I know."

"You don't... you couldn't...," Jack choked on the words.

"Jack. Listen to me, dammit. I do get it. _I know_."

And then Jack knew, too. He knew what the man had so awkwardly been trying to tell him, to show him, all along. He knew why the man had worn that look in the alley, and why he had reacted so violently to Pollard. He knew why the man's punches had been so wild. Knew why he had trusted this man instinctively. Knew why Jack's defense of him was as precious to the man as his had been to Jack.

The last bit of tension which had held its ground inside Jack melted away. It was okay now. Everything would be okay now. Even if he walked out of the stable and never saw this man again, he had shown Jack what could come _after_. If someone as brave and strong as this man really had known Jack's life, and survived it, then maybe, just maybe Jack could, too.

The hope he now felt stole his voice as completely as the earlier shame had. Wordlessly, Jack handed the gun back to the stranger, hoping his brimming eyes and unguarded smile conveyed the thanks that no words _ever_ could.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Bobby smoothly slid the proffered gun into his holster and fastened the leather strip which secured it in place, all the while maintaining eye contact with Jack. The tears which Jack had held in check throughout their standoff now streamed down his cheeks. The smile on the boy's face -- so out of place amid the tears -- tore at Bobby's heart, even as he returned it. Bobby knew that if his mother was here, she would have wrapped the boy in a hug and held him until all his tears were spent.

Bobby had been on the receiving end of those hugs when he was much younger, when night terrors filled with too many childhood horrors had overwhelmed Bobby's ability to cope and tears were the only outlet he could manage. During those nights, Ma would stand in the doorway to his room, letting him decide whether to invite her in or not. Instinctively she knew that offering him that choice helped him gain the control his nightmares had ripped from him. For weeks, she merely stood as a sentinel in the doorway, a solid presence that would not touch or hurt, but who guarded over him as he trembled in his bed, his pride too strong to permit her comfort. Bobby now knew how hard it had been for her not to sweep in and offer comfort to him. He had begun to respect her then. He hadn't loved her yet, but her restraint with him, her gentleness and silent care, had slowly earned his respect.

One night, when the dreams were just too much for him to handle, when her silhouette in the doorway was not enough, he had reached out to her with greedy arms. Within seconds, the nine year old Bobby was enveloped in her embrace, his face pressed to her neck. He had trembled and cried and desperately clutched handfuls of her robe. He remembered choking out his regret at disturbing her sleep, and being softly shushed. With one arm wrapped firmly around his thin body, she used the other to rub soothing circles on his back, occasionally running her hand through his hair, and kept it up for _hours_ until Bobby's tears had ceased. He had clung to her, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the first time in his life.

Ma had spoken softly to him throughout that night as she held and rocked her boy. Most of the words registered as nonsense to Bobby. His hiccupping sobs drowned many of them out, but one phrase was repeated so many times, and with such love behind it, he couldn't help but hear and believe.

_"You're safe here, Bobby. You're safe with me."_

She had not relinquished her hold on Bobby that night. At some point, Bobby had fallen asleep against her, her arms still shielding him from the terrors of his past. He had wakened well past dawn, still in her embrace, blushing furiously when he realized what had happened. She had released him slowly. Her arms must have been aching, but she never let it show on her face. Instead, she had taken Bobby's face in her hands, kissed his forehead and asked if he would help her with her chores after breakfast.

The normalcy of the request had taken him by surprise. Bobby had expected a long talk, or gentle chiding, or God help him, overly sappy affection from her now that he had let her baby him. He had underestimated her, but never would again. His respect for her ratcheted up that morning, and he suspected that was when he had begun to love her. They worked through the day. She remained near him but never quite hovered. Her solid presence deflected the old memories every time they popped up, and Bobby finally found himself in something resembling a normal day. She showed him how to weed the garden, and when his youthful energy and lack of patience proved too much for the tender vegetables, let him chop as much wood as his strength would permit. He still carried anger in him, but Ma helped him direct the energy outward instead of letting it simmer all day, only to boil over and terrorize him in the quiet of night.

Their relationship strengthened from that day forward. Sometimes she would be his sentinel in the doorway, and other times she would hold him, but more and more often, Bobby would sleep through the night, untroubled by his past. Ma had healed him. He could never forget what his early life had been like, but it would no longer control him.

But Jack wasn't there yet. He would need much more help before he allowed himself the kind of vulnerability Bobby had experienced that night with his mother which had started his healing process. Bobby needed to be the sentinel in the doorway until Jack was ready to be held. Bobby would follow his mother's example until he could deliver Jack into her far more capable hands.

"Do you know how to saddle a horse?" he asked. Bobby worked hard not to react to the look Jack sent him. He would bet all of Angel's winnings that his own face had held the very same mixture of surprise and hope when Ma had asked for his help with her chores so many years ago. Jack nodded.

"If you can get my brother's horse saddled, I'll handle mine and then we can get out of here." Bobby shot a meaningful look down at Pollard, who hadn't moved, and likely wouldn't for a few more hours, if Bobby guessed correctly.

"Your brother?" No fear, just curiosity from the boy. _Good._

"Yeah. His name's Angel and he doesn't like to mess up his fancy clothes by doing any real work. He's a first rate pain in the ass, but he's a hell of a card sharp. Doesn't even need to cheat to win. He may take some getting used to, but you'll like him well enough eventually. He takes longer to get dressed than a woman, and won't wake up 'til well past dawn. But like I said, you'll get used to him. Come on, let's go get the horses ready."

Jack's face had turned thoughtful as Bobby spoke about Angel. When Bobby turned to exit the stall, instead of following him, Jack moved to where Pollard still lay. Jack nudged Pollard with his boot, and when that garnered no reaction, he crouched down next to the man. Bobby held his breath, wondering if Jack had a knife hidden somewhere to cut the bastard's throat with. Not that Pollard didn't deserve it, but it would be better for Jack in the long run if he didn't have blood on his hands.

There was no hidden knife. Instead, Jack reached into Pollard's jacket and removed a fat wallet. He turned to grin at Bobby as he tucked it into his own pants pocket. Bobby's bark of laughter only widened Jack's now-mischievous smile. The poor kid still had tear tracks on his cheeks, but damn if he wasn't a survivor. Bobby hadn't even thought to loot the man, wanting to get Jack away from Pollard as soon as possible. Now that Jack had initiated the theft, why not do it right?

"Check his boots," Bobby urged.

Jack complied, nimble fingers making quick work of the job, and had soon removed another wad of bills and two small sacks of coins from inside Pollard's boots. After a last pat down, Jack rose to his feet and solemnly held out the newly found money to Bobby.

"Nah, kid, you keep it. You have more of a right to it than me." Bobby hadn't hesitated for even a moment before refusing the money. Jack had earned every cent of it. Earned it with pain and humiliation, and damned if Bobby would let one penny be used for anything besides making Jack's life better. The kid needed new clothes, boots and a horse. A bath and some discreet medical attention would be a good first step and that notion solidified his plans.

The kid was grinning as he stuffed the money into his pockets. Jack was grinning, yes, but he was also swaying slightly, which Bobby knew was exhaustion catching up to him. They needed to get moving before the kid crashed.

"Come on Jack, leave the trash in here and let's get ready to go."

* * *

Jack followed the man out of the stall and out into the aisle. A tiny voice in his head was demanding that Jack stop and recognize the significance of what had just occurred in the stall, but Jack lacked the energy to process any thoughts beyond basic ones at the moment. He was operating on gut instincts, all of which were screaming at him to just follow this man and let him take over until Jack had the strength to make his own decisions.

The next stall over held a beautiful black horse which the man was affectionately patting on the nose.

"Jack, this is Marauder. He's another one who'll take some getting used to." The man gestured to the stall next to Marauder's. "And that's Lucky, Angel's horse. Personally, I think it's a piss poor name for such a fine animal, but one of Angel's many talents is being too lazy to think up a proper name for his horse. Can you get him ready?"

Jack nodded and started toward Lucky's stall, but stopped in confusion. He knew the man's horse's name, the man's brother's name, and even his brother's horse's name. One name was missing.

"All the tack and equipment should be in the stall. You do know how to do this, right?"

Jack must have been standing in place for too long, searching his memory for the man's name, long enough to draw his attention. He shook his head to clear it and moved quickly into Lucky's stall, grabbing the curry brush and beginning to groom the horse in preparation for the saddle blanket.

"Yeah, I can do it. Worked for three years on a ranch. The horses were my job."

"Jesus Christ. Three years? How old are you?"

"What does that matter?" Jack didn't want to admit that he didn't know for sure. He had counted it out a few times, guessing at how old he had been when his parents first traded him for opium all those years ago.

"It matters because you don't look much older than twelve which means you were handling a pretty important job for a little kid if you were in charge of the horses on a ranch."

Jack frowned at the man's guess on his age, but liked that he had focused on the importance of Jack's work. Jack finished his measured strokes on the horse's coat, returned the brush to its place on the shelf and grabbed the saddle blanket. He placed it a bit farther up on the horse's back than where he wanted it, giving it room to slide back when the saddle was laid on the horse's back. Jack sneaked a glance over to the other stall and saw the man give a satisfied nod at Jack's efforts.

"I don't know your name," Jack asked suddenly, emboldened by the approval. Jack grinned sheepishly at the man's startled look and muttered oaths before moving his attention back to the work at hand. Jack gently placed the saddle on Lucky and adjusted it to lessen the rub on the horse's withers. As he reached for the girth to tighten it, he got his reply.

"Bobby. I'm Bobby Mercer."

"And I'm fourteen," Jack replied. It was his best guess, but it seemed more accurate than Bobby's guess of twelve. He got a smirk from Bobby in return, which made Jack smile.

The rest of the saddling process was done in companionable silence. Jack didn't adjust the stirrups since he had never laid eyes on Angel Mercer, so couldn't know how tall he was. He led Lucky out into the aisle mere moments after Bobby had finished with Marauder, which earned Jack another satisfied nod. Jack held both horses' reins while Bobby secured the saddlebags to the horses. Lucky stood docilely enough, but Marauder did his best to nip at Jack's hair, despite the boy's efforts to avoid him, providing great amusement for Bobby.

"You can't really be protective of that mop of hair, can you? Anything the horse does will only make it look better," he teased.

Jack shot Bobby a dirty look which made Bobby laugh even harder. His amusement proved infectious though, and Jack was soon giggling as he sought to avoid the horse's attempts to barber his hair. Bobby finished securing the saddle bags and walked up to retrieve Marauder's reins from Jack, who noted that the horse didn't make a single move towards Bobby's hair.

"Jack?" Bobby sounded serious, and Jack met his eyes quickly, wondering if, in his tired state he had missed something in saddling Lucky.

"You ready?" Bobby asked him as his arm rose and gestured behind them in a sweeping motion, indicating the stall where Pollard still lay insensate. _Oh._ Bobby's question held many layers of meaning at once, but Jack was simply too tired to appreciate them all. Hell yes, he was ready. He would cherish the morning's events for as long as he lived, but was simply too tired to do anything just then besides put his life in Bobby Mercer's hands and hope for the best. He gave Bobby tired smile and a shrug in reply.

Bobby hesitated for a moment, then just nodded and started walking towards the big stable doors, leading Marauder behind him.

"Let's go find Angel, then."

Jack followed Bobby into the light of the corral, the promise of a new life getting closer with every weary step he took.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

Bobby had hoped that the area around the stables -- normally a chaotic and noisy place -- would be a bit more subdued on a Sunday morning. He wanted to get Jack out of the general vicinity of Pollard and to somewhere the boy could rest and get some much-needed doctoring. He had a plan in mind, and knew that Angel would go along with it once he understood the situation.

His wish for a peaceful getaway was dashed when he and Jack exited the stables to a scene of barely controlled mayhem. There were about 40 people standing around, all focused on the outside corral where Finley, the manager/farrier, normally let the horses roam around with a bit more freedom than a stall. A chestnut horse was bucking wildly, leading a finely dressed though very dusty man on a merry chase around the corral. Bobby saw Finley leading another horse over to the far side of the paddock and tying its reins down to keep it in place. Several other horses were tied in a similar fashion along the same rail. They shifted nervously, reacting to the chestnut's screams and the shouts from the dusty man. Bobby found a hitching post on the opposite side of the street from the corral and quickly tied Marauder -- watching as Jack did the same with Angel's horse -- before striding back to the edge of the paddock.

Finley made his way over to Bobby and wearily rested against the railing. He nodded a greeting to Bobby, gave Jack a curious glance, then turned his attention back to the display of poor equine ownership taking place in his paddock. The horse managed to elude every attempt the dusty man made at catching hold of the dangling reins. Something seemed a bit off with the horse, but Bobby couldn't quite place it. He noted absently that Jack stood next to him, on the far side of the crowd, his posture straighter than it had been inside. The boy seemed energized by the action in the paddock. His eyes followed the movements of the man and the horse, his mouth turned downwards in a fierce frown.

"Finley! What the hell is going on, and where the fuck is my brother?" Bobby demanded.

* * *

Finley took a moment to untie his bandana and wipe his face before answering. He was accustomed to Bobby's brusque nature, and easily overlooked it. He liked the Mercer brothers. He enjoyed Angel's card games and had seen Bobby in a scrap or two in the saloon and admired them both. They were far from gentrified, but both were more honest than not -- with him at least -- and most importantly, were loyal customers. Bobby was crazy about his horse, which always ratcheted a man up in Finley's esteem. Finley understood horses. Treat them right, and they were loyal companions and trail partners. Abuse them or neglect them, and you were worse than dirt. Speaking of which...

"Mr. Fancy Pants out there rode in just before you and Angel showed up. Right after he got off the poor animal, she decided she'd had enough of him. Been dancing around and raising hell ever since. I tried to tell him to leave her to me, but he's got a bee in his bonnet and wants to show her who's boss. I saw to the other horses first. Figure he can ruin his fancy duds for all I care." His tone was nonchalant, but seeing the beautiful chestnut in pain was tearing him up.

Finley glanced over to Bobby, and then at the bruised boy at his side. Bobby had adopted a protective stance in front of the kid, so Finley would bet the bruises had not come from Bobby. Knowing that, and despite his curiosity, he decided not to poke his nose where it didn't belong. He had never known Bobby to favor boys, nor was he cruel to children, so whatever the kid was doing with him was nothing Finley needed to know. The boy was frowning mightily at the scene in the paddock, which made Finley smile. Kid's heart was in the right place.

"OK. So where's Angel?" Bobby demanded.

Finley glanced over to the milling group of spectators who had been drawn by the sounds of the enraged horse. He jutted his chin in their direction in reply to Bobby. Moving among the men in the group was Angel Mercer, smiling and chatting with all. He passed small slips of paper to several of the men, and held a sheaf of greenbacks tightly in his right fist. Finley didn't know what odds Angel was placing on the events happening in the corral, but it seemed the more outgoing of the Mercer brothers had already made a bundle. Finley shrugged and shook his head. It might be wrong to gamble on a Sunday, and it didn't seem right to make bets on a distressed animal, but the care he had given Bobby's horse wasn't cheap, so most of that money would be headed into his pocket shortly. He could live with the moral ambivalence.

Finley listened to Bobby's string of curses -- directed at Angel -- as he turned his attention back to the chestnut and her tiresome owner. He was about to head into the fray and insist the man leave the horse to him when it happened. The man had moved a bit too close to the horse, who had had about as much of him as she was willing to take. Her flailing hooves caught the man on the side of the head, the horrifying _thunk_ sounding loudly throughout the gathered crowd.

For the space of several heartbeats, the only sound was the blowing chestnut, who pranced gingerly away from her downed owner. Then pandemonium broke loose. Screams of horror, calls for a stretcher, shouted prayers and invectives against the horse filled the air. Angel's voice could be heard amid the others, calling in those who had smartly bet on the tragic outcome.

Finley raised his eyes to heaven before moving towards the man who lay bleeding in the center of the corral. He saw Bobby Mercer speak quickly to the boy before joining Finley in the paddock. Finley sent him a grateful glance. He appreciated the assistance of someone who wasn't squeamish to help him assess the damage and to maintain order if those fools outside the paddock came in for a closer look. Not one of them would cross Bobby Mercer if he knew what was good for him.

* * *

Jack knew something was wrong from the moment the horse's whinnies registered in his brain. He was anxious to meet Bobby's brother Angel, but the horse's cries were a more pressing concern.

The three years he had spent with the Farnsworth family on their horse ranch had not been pleasant, but he had learned a trade and learned it well. When he had dreamed of running away from Pollard, it had usually been to a ranch where he could earn his own keep and make a better life for himself than the servitude he had known thus far. The Farnsworths owned a large and successful ranch, and Jack had spent every day and night with their horses. He had slept in the barn after he discovered how cruel the other young ranch hands could be. He was too small to adequately defend himself so instead, he hid. The older hands were not as interested in tormenting Jack as they were in gaining competent help, so there were a few bright spots in his memories. He recalled the first time he had helped with an especially difficult foaling, after which Old Deke had given Jack the first bit of praise he could remember. The other older hands had begun to ask for Jack's help, which expanded his knowledge, but also served to make his jealous peers all the meaner.

The Farnsworths themselves had also treated Jack badly. Failures in his responsibilities, even minor mistakes, were rewarded with pain or hunger. The ranch hands had long ago learned not to protest such unfair treatment, lest they receive it themselves. Jack had learned to despise their regretful looks. The Farnsworths were mean, but the ranch hands were fucking cowards. Jack reckoned he would be taller than he was today if only they hadn't let him go hungry so often.

The one constant in those three years had been the horses. They were his companions, his friends in a way. He treated them with respect and proper care, and they behaved in kind. Horses were such a far cry from people: they were not purposefully cruel, nor did they take pleasure in Jack's pain. If a horse hurt you, it was likely an accident. If a horse treated you badly, there was always a good reason.

When the chestnut struck out at the man with her hooves, many of the spectators shouted for the horse to be destroyed. Jack, however, bore her no ill will. Something was wrong, and that foolish man had only made it worse with his shouts and his waving arms. Jack felt sorry for the man, but Finley and Bobby were tending to him, and the man had brought the injury on himself after all. Anyone who behaved as he had in front of a frightened horse deserved a kick in the head at the very least.

Ignoring Bobby's order not to move an inch, Jack slipped under the railing of the corral and slowly approached the terrified horse. He thought he knew what was wrong, and hated to see the animal in pain. He held both hands out, palms forward, and spoke softly to the horse, whose sides were heaving and slick with sweat. Jack kept his eyes fixed to a spot on the ground near her front hooves using his peripheral vision to make his way to the horse. When Jack reached her head, he merely stood still and let her become accustomed to him. He never let up his steady stream of soft words, and after a long minute, reached out and grasped the dangling reins. By now, Finley and Bobby had handed off the injured man to some men with a stretcher, and their attention was now focused on Jack. Finley used the same measured movements as Jack to approach the now much calmer horse.

Jack nodded at Finley's approach and handed the reins to him, intending to inspect the horse's hoof himself. Suddenly cognizant of how bold he had behaved in taking the lead, Jack froze for a moment and snuck a glance at Finley. _Idiot!_ he berated himself. _Wouldn't he ever learn?_

He needn't have worried. Finley was beaming at him just like Old Deke had done so long ago. Encouraged by the big man's smile, he moved to the horse's left side and back towards her rump. Jack ran his hand along her left rear leg until he caught the fetlock and encouraged the horse to raise her leg using firm pressure. Jack shook his head sadly at the state of the hoof, it was filthy. He heard the farrier make a tsking sound behind him and Jack knew had seen the hoof as well.

Jack reached a hand out towards Finley, and the farrier wordlessly handed Jack a hoof pick. Jack made quick work of the moldy hay and dirt which had stuck to the shoe, eventually exposing the frog. He handed the pick back to Finley then used gentle fingers to brush away the last bits of dirt. He examined the surface of the hoof, frowning more deeply as he did.

"It might be thrush, but I'm not sure" he told Finley.

"Switch with me, she likes you better," Finley replied, and leaned over so he could capture the horse's upraised leg while Jack scooted around and took Finley's place at the horse's head. He ran his hand down the horse's nose then began steady strokes along the her neck and shoulder, speaking calmly all the while. Finley spent several minutes examining the hoof before letting it go and backing away. He winked at Jack and beckoned him to follow. After a few more words and another stroke of the horse's nose, Jack followed Finley over to where Bobby stood outside the corral.

Jack couldn't help but smirk at the look on Bobby's face. Bobby quickly schooled his features to a mask of indifference, but Jack had seen the shock and concern there. _Concern for him!_ Finley was still smiling, and he reached over to briefly squeeze Jack's shoulder. It was meant to be a friendly gesture, so Jack worked hard to conceal his flinch.

"You did a bang-up job in there, kid. What's your name?"

"Jack."

"Well Jack, you ever get sick of this character, and you've got a guaranteed job with me," Finley announced. "Getting near that poor girl should have been impossible. Getting her hoof up and cleaned was a marvel. Thrush it is, and a nasty case of it. If that fool owner of hers ever wakes up, he's going to get a talking to from me on the basics of proper hoof care." Finley cracked his knuckles ominously when he mentioned "talking," and Jack couldn't help but flinch again, moving a step closer to Bobby as he did. "You've got quite a one there, Bobby. You be certain to take good care of him, or I'll steal him away from you."

"You even fucking try, Finley, and I'll make it so you _wish_ you only got kicked in the head by a horse." Bobby was smiling at Finley, showing all his teeth, but his eyes held the promise of violence. Finley nodded solemnly at Bobby, then laughed and walked away. Message received and understood.

Jack moved another step closer to Bobby. Including all his former guardians, he had never known anyone who exuded violence like Bobby Mercer did. He glanced quickly at the object of his thoughts, who had dropped the fake smile and was now scowling at the retreating Finley, all the while muttering about fucking Angel's continued fucking absence. Jack smiled.

He had never felt this safe in his life.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**

* * *

**

Chapter Eight

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

Bobby couldn't help but grin at his younger brother Angel when he finally made his way over to where Bobby and Jack stood with the horses. Nothing made Angel happier than gambling, and it seemed whatever odds he had cooked up over the incident in the paddock had netted him a fair amount of cash, judging by the wide smile on his face.

"You pay Finley yet?" Bobby asked him as Angel tucked the cash away inside his vest.

"Sure did. Who's that?" Angel raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"This is Jack. He's with us. Jack, this is my brother Angel."

Bobby had seen exhaustion warring with curiosity on Jack's face for past few minutes since Finley had gone back into the paddock to see to the other horses. He watched amusedly as Jack had scanned the dwindling crowd of men, and Bobby reckoned Jack had repeatedly guessed wrong at which of the remaining men was the elusive Angel Mercer. Bobby knew what Angel's reaction would be towards Jack: curiosity about the boy, but utter faith in his older brother's judgment. That was one of the very best qualities Angel possessed. Nothing ever seemed to phase him. Wherever Bobby led, Angel would stand firmly at Bobby's side, ready to mix it up, live it up or run like hell as the situation warranted. He would likely corner Bobby later on and ask about the circumstances of Jack's joining them, but would do so in private, and only to assuage his curiosity.

Bobby was a lot more curious about what Jack's reaction to Angel would be. There was the obvious disconnect of Angel being black and Bobby being white. Bobby dressed like a ranch hand, yet Angel could pass for a bank manager. Bobby radiated menace, and while Angel was physically imposing, he had an affable demeanor which made him the far more approachable of the two. Bobby held back a laugh as Angel straightened his vest a bit before smiling and sticking out his hand for Jack to shake. Angel was such a fucking fop sometimes.

Jack blinked then looked over at Bobby. Bobby merely raised his eyebrows and nodded towards Angel. Bobby had to bite his lip when Jack's face scrunched into a look of disbelief, but he gamely grasped Angel's hand. Angel rolled his eyes at Bobby before moving to stand next to Jack, so they both faced Bobby. Bobby could tell that Angel registered the flinch from Jack, since the arm Angel was about to wrap around the boy was quickly redirected up to rest on his own hat. Bobby gave Angel a quick nod of approval.

"I see Bobby didn't tell you we had different mamas before we both came to live with Miss Evelyn." Angel frowned at Bobby's unrepentant smirk. "Well, never you mind that Jack. It's what Ma likes to call a technicality." Angel pronounced the difficult word carefully. "She used to be a teacher, so she knows all sorts of words that nobody ever heard of before. She taught me all kinds of words like that, to help make me sound more educated when I'm conducting my business in town. Folks don't all look kindly on a negro, but an educated man is another thing. Ma says that a 'technicality' is an insignificant thing. Now, 'insignificant', that's another fancy word most people don't know about..."

"If you're using words nobody's ever heard of before, then no one will understand a fucking thing you say. Thought about that, Angel? See Jack, didn't I tell you Angel was a pain in the ass?"

"Why you gotta be that way, Bobby? I'm just talking to the boy, introducing myself and whatnot," Angel groused.

"You're gonna to talk him into a coma and _whatnot_, Angel. Jesus." Bobby would like nothing better than to mock Angel for the rest of the morning, and try to get a smile out of Jack, who was observing their banter a bit more seriously than Bobby liked, but Pollard lay not fifty feet from where they stood, and the moment he was found or worse -- woke up -- would mean problems for Bobby and Jack. He turned his attention to Jack.

"Bottom line is it don't matter who our mamas were. Me and Angel are Ma's boys now, and that makes us brothers. See?"

Jack just shrugged, wincing a bit at the movement. Bobby would let Ma explain their mixed family if Jack was still confused by the time they got home. Right now, though, they needed to go.

"Come on, Angel, get your ass in gear and let's get moving." Bobby sent a serious look at Angel, and his brother got the message. Angel glanced pointedly into the open doors of the stable, a question in his eyes, and Bobby nodded, grateful for his brother's quick mind. Angel was instantly more alert, and Bobby watched him pat at the gun on his hip and the one hidden beneath his jacket in a shoulder holster. Bobby brushed a hand against his own holster, just making sure.

"We headed out?" Angel asked as he untied his horse.

"Nope. We're going to Belle's. Jack needs a little downtime and maybe a visit with Miss Spencer before the ride back home."

Bobby watched as Angel scrutinized Jack a bit more closely before nodding sharply.

"Good idea," he agreed.

Bobby waited. He would give Angel ten seconds before. . .

"I wonder if Lucita will be free when we get there. Oh my, but that little senorita knows how to treat Angel _right_."

Bobby sighed. Three seconds. He hoped today wasn't the day when Angel finally got his dick cut off by a jealous woman. Bobby's plate was full enough already.

* * *

Nearly a year ago, Bobby and Angel had been in town on one of Angel's "business trips" which had been more successful than most. The Elixir had been filled with miners from the Black Rock silver mine, their bellies filled with whisky and their pockets filled with money -- money which made its way steadily over to Angel's side of the green baize table. Halfway through the night, Bobby and Angel had gone upstairs to the room they shared. Angel had counted out his winnings as Bobby whistled approvingly. It was more money than Angel Mercer had ever made in one night. Hell, it was more than he sometimes made on a whole trip!

Bobby told Angel they were done for the night, and began dividing up the cash, hiding it all over his person as well as in his bags and in Angel's. Angel stuffed his share inside his vest pocket and insisted they head back downstairs so he could win some more. Bobby patiently explained that the crowd was ripe for a brawl, and that it was going to be an ugly one when it broke out. Angel cajoled and pleaded with his brother -- describing all the improvements they could make to their little homestead and just how happy Ma would be -- until Bobby finally agreed to head back downstairs. Just before they left the room, Bobby bet Angel that a fight would break out by the end of Angel's first game, and if it did, they were leaving on the spot. Angel had scoffed and took the bet, which he promptly lost. The fight was just as bad as Bobby expected, and the Mercer brothers had ended up grabbing their horses and heading for home in the middle of the evening.

Bobby and Angel had ridden past the famous Belle's whore house on their travels in and out of the city, but had never planned to stop in there. Whores could be found far more cheaply in the vicinity of The Elixir if either of them had the notion, and their "business trips" to San Francisco usually occurred because money was tight. It would do no good to get caught up in expensive pursuits when they were meant to make some money and get home soon to Ma.

They did, however, always slow their horses to a walk and grin appreciatively at the lovely ladies lining the huge wraparound porch who implored them to stop and come in for a "visit." The girls at Belle's were always so clean and well-dressed. They didn't raise their voices, either. Men would pause and lean in to hear whatever the girls had to say. One morning, Belle herself had smiled up at Bobby and asked why his handsome self and his handsome brother never bothered to spend any time with her girls, when they so clearly were inclined to do so.

Neither Mercer brother admitted it openly to the other, but each had wondered privately whether they deserved something as clean and first-rate as a whore from Belle's. Somehow, the raunchier girls who frequented The Elixir seemed more suited to boys with such sorry, troubled pasts. Oh, they would laugh and joke with each other about winning big some day and moving in to Belle's for a week. But under their laughter was the bittersweet realization that the Mercer brothers would never be quite as good as other men. Even if you possessed the most deadly fists or the finest watch fob in the state, some stains never came clean.

Bobby always smiled at Belle's beautiful upturned face and promised her that one day, he and Angel would indeed stop in and set Belle's world on its ear. Bobby's words had been offered jokingly, with a clear allusion to sex, but would prove to be prophetic.

Headed out of town after the trouble with the miners, Bobby and Angel made their customary way past Belle's. It was too late for the girls to be lounging on the porch, but Bobby and Angel slowed their horses anyway. Old habits die hard. As they passed the far end of the big house, Bobby was about to kick his horse into a trot when a scantily-clad woman darted out in front of his horse, grabbing Marauder's halter and reaching a desperate hand up towards Bobby.

"Help! Please! He's killing her!" she had cried desperately. Bobby recognized the girl as one of Belle's, and shared a glance with Angel. His brother shrugged as if to say 'why not'. After quickly hitching their horses, they followed the girl into the house. If nothing else, they could say they had been inside Belle's. The girl, whose name was Lucita, led them not to a bedroom, as Bobby had guessed, but to an office in the back of the sprawling house, where Belle lay at the feet of a well-dressed man. Belle had been horribly beaten, likely by the man, judging from the state of his hands. A leather belt lay on the ground next to Belle, its silver buckle stained with blood. The man turned towards the newcomers.

"Who the fuck are you?" he roared. Lucita jumped behind Angel to shield herself from the man's view.

"Friends of Belle's," Angel answered quickly. "What the fuck did you do to her?"

"Shut your goddamned mouth, nigger. Don't you dare speak like that to your betters!"

Bobby saw red. Nobody spoke to his brother that way! Betters? This man was no better than the shit Bobby scraped off his boots. Bobby threw his first punch before the man even registered that Bobby had crossed the room. Bobby was vaguely aware of Angel helping Belle up off the floor, but his primary focus was on pummeling this asshole into oblivion. This would teach him to speak to Angel Mercer like that. Within minutes, the man was down and bleeding. Moments later he was unconscious. While Bobby was helping Angel carry Belle upstairs, the man stopped breathing. Later on, in the darkest part of the evening, Bobby buried him in a wooded area not far from the back door to Belle's while Angel kept watch.

And so the ownership of Belle's passed from the deceased to Belle herself. The man had been her husband. He had married her not for love but to gain control of a lucrative asset. Belle's father had owned the lovely four story rooming house with the wraparound porches and large back yard which he had named after his only child and managed into great prosperity. The old man had been overjoyed at his daughter's marriage, then found dead mere days later. His mysterious murder was never solved. Gradually, Belle's husband had transformed the boarding house into a whore house. Belle was helpless to stop it. Throughout the United States in 1870, women possessed fewer rights than freed slaves! She was her husband's possession, trapped into living whatever kind of life he expected of her. But she refused to play the victim. If Belle's was going to be a whore house, then dammit, it was going to be the _finest_ whore house she could make it. It was Belle who instituted and upheld the high standards which would set her girls apart from the other whores in town. It was a cold comfort, but at least she could try to maintain some sense of dignity for the sake of her beloved father's memory. Belle's boldness earned her husband's displeasure, and eventually, his violence.

While Bobby and Angel stood guard over the downed proprietress, Lucita had fetched Miss Spencer. Charlotte Spencer had been a nurse all throughout the war, seeing and treating all manner of injuries, and came out of the conflict a doctor in all but name. She and Belle had been good friends before the war and Belle's marriage, and on hearing what had become of Belle, Charlotte had moved to San Francisco to be with her friend. In exchange for offering unofficial doctoring to the girls and the occasional patron, Charlotte had been given her own room. Upon arriving in Belle's room that night, Charlotte had taken one look at her friend then looked pointedly at Bobby's bloodied fists.

"If he's not dead yet, you go ahead finish the job," she hissed at him before closing the door in the brothers' faces.

Bobby had released a long breath and then grinned at his brother. He hadn't been sure whether they would be lauded or ostracized for their actions. Together, they had carried the dead man out and buried him after the moon went down.

The next morning, Belle had insisted on meeting with them. She looked terrible in the harsh light of day, the bruises and cuts marring her beauty. Angel had babbled on about injustice, inner beauty and life's cruelties. Belle had listened patiently, then smiled and nodded at Angel before sending him out of the room, leaving her alone with Bobby.

Bobby had expected blubbering thanks, or perhaps discomfited gratitude, or even the promise of free services for the rest of his life, _anything_ other than what he got from Belle. The injured woman had stood up from her bed so she could meet him face to face. She shook Bobby's hand, offering sincere thanks for his efforts. She then coolly reminded him that he had done murder, and she knew where the body was buried, and while she was grateful for his intervention, if Bobby ever tried to threaten her business, she would turn him in to the authorities and act the part of the grieving widow. Did they understand each other?

Once he had gotten past the shock of it, Bobby had laughed until tears leaked from his eyes. He had actually kissed her hand, told her she was the most incredible woman he had ever met -- second only to his mother -- and that they most definitely had an understanding between them. Her eyes were sparkling as she added that he and Angel were welcome to stay at Belle's for a few days at a one-time discounted rate.

Bobby had accepted her offer, and he and Angel remained at Belle's for two more days. Bobby had spent a good bit of time being entertained by Belle's girls, but had spent an equal amount of time talking with Belle. Ma's presence in his life had given him an appreciation for independent women, and Belle struck a nerve in him, as had his Ma. He wasn't attracted to her in a sexual way. Her girls were more than satisfactory for handling his physical needs. No, it was Belle's business savvy and clever mind that had impressed the hell out of Bobby Mercer. She shared a little bit of her past with him, which led him to open up a bit about his own. Surprisingly to both, a true friendship based on mutual respect between them had developed. Bobby had already known a lot about Belle's past from talking to Charlotte and the other girls. Belle had discovered that Bobby was so much more than an angry cowboy. They were both survivors.

Belle's face was still bruised, and Charlotte's neat stitches still marred her lip and brow when she waved goodbye to Bobby and Angel from the second story porch. Bobby doffed his hat at Belle before turning his horse for home and rode in silence for hours afterwards as Angel barraged him with lewd questions about the time Bobby spent alone with Belle.

He loved his brother, but Angel just wouldn't understand needs beyond the physical. Angel was as addicted to sex as he was to gambling. Bobby doubted he even _spoke_ to the girls he slept with half the time. A physical connection was easy to make. A man need only have a few dollars and some spare time to slake his lust on any number of women in town, whores or otherwise. An emotional connection was so much more precious to Bobby, and it seemed the same was true for Belle. Bobby would no more extort her than she would turn him in for the murder of her husband.

Bobby would, however, ask for her help with Jack. The boy needed Charlotte's attention, and the Mercers needed to lay low until Jack was well enough to travel back home with them to Ma and Jerry.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

Bobby glanced over at Jack, who walked silently at his side. Jack had balked at riding double with Bobby, so Bobby had Angel ride ahead to set things up for them at Belle's. Jack led Bobby's horse for him, and Bobby strolled at his side. The presence of the big animal on one side of Jack and Bobby on the other seemed right. _Let the kid feel protected for a while._ He hoped that Jack had the luxury of getting used to that feeling soon.

Angel had puzzled over Jack's reluctance, but Bobby thought he knew why Jack insisted on walking. The closeness of another man which riding double necessitated -- even if that man was Bobby -- would be difficult for Jack to bear. Bobby suspected that the injuries Jack had hidden beneath his clothes included damage to his back. Bobby ground his teeth together when he thought of the other injuries Jack probably bore, so that sitting in the hard leather saddle would be as difficult as leaning back against Bobby. _Stop it! Don't think about it now._

Jack was swaying with fatigue. The hand Jack had casually placed on Marauder's stirrup had kept him from a few falls already, but Jack kept placing one foot in front of the other as they drew closer and closer to Belle's. Bobby wanted to prepare the kid for what was coming next, just in case the stubbornness which had seen Jack through so much already turned downright mutinous. He hadn't discussed anything so far with Jack, and didn't want the boy thinking that Bobby was going to string him along the way his other guardians had. He went back to his thoughts right after Jack had handed him the gun. Control. Give Jack some control over what happens next.

Unfortunately, Bobby couldn't let that happen just yet. Bobby knew he needed to be the one in charge of things for the foreseeable future, and Jack was going to see Miss Spencer whether he liked it or not. _Dammit!_ Why was this so hard? Bobby never truly appreciated how deftly Ma had handled her headstrong sons. She always seemed to ease them into doing the right thing in the end, then acted pleased as punch, like she hadn't outright maneuvered them into doing just what she had wanted all along. Somehow with Ma, it never felt like manipulation. Maybe if he got Jack to agree with what Bobby had already decided, he could let Jack make other choices for himself later? He hoped he had some persuasion left in him. . .

"You know, you're pretty tough for such a little kid," Bobby began. His statement got Jack's attention, as well as bit of a frown in return.

"I'm not a little kid," Jack protested softly. Bobby ignored him.

"Of course, being physically tough is only half the game, Jackie. You can be as tough as old boots and still end up getting pummeled if you don't mix some common sense in with the muscles. Know what I'm saying?"

Jack didn't. He frowned at Bobby and shrugged, drawing yet another wince.

"Me and Angel, we're a team, see? When we're together, he gets to be clever, and I get to be tough, and it works out just fine. If I was here without Angel, I would have to be clever _and_ tough, which isn't really a problem for me. But if Angel was here by himself, he would have to grow a fucking set of balls and get his pretty hands dirty in addition to being a clever son of a bitch." Not the best analogy in the world, but Jack's scowl had been replaced by a thoughtful expression. Bobby stuck his chest out proudly. His powers of persuasion were downright inspiring.

"Are the horses enough, or do you want me to learn to play cards, too? Until I'm bigger, anyway, and can fight better," Jack said.

"What?" His chest deflated, and it was Bobby's turn to scowl at Jack.

"I'm not strong enough to help you fight, but I have a pretty good memory. If Angel taught me how to play cards, maybe I'd be good at them." _What the fuck?_

"Angel is not teaching you how to play his fucking card games. Bad enough he has to spend all that time with men who would just as soon kill him as play with him half the time. If Ma didn't need the money, we would never even be here. No way am I letting you risk yourself like that. No way in hell, Jack."

"What else do you want me to do then, Bobby? I hoped that knowing about horses would be enough for now." Jack stared down at his boots as Bobby looked at him in confusion.

"Enough for what?" _Fucking analogies._

Jack looked quickly up at Bobby then back down at his boots. Bobby had the feeling Jack wanted to say something, but was afraid of how Bobby might react.

"It's okay, you can tell me," Bobby urged, trying hard to control his expression. He really wanted to scowl, but Jack didn't need that now. He plastered a look of polite interest on his face when Jack looked up at him again.

"Do you need an outhouse? We can stop for a minute, if you like," Jack offered. _Motherfucker!_ Bobby tried to look open minded and ended up looking like he needed to take a shit. _Brilliant. Fucking brilliant, Mercer._ He stopped beating himself up when he heard a soft giggle.

"You think that's funny, do you?" Bobby taunted. Jack grinned right back into Bobby's angry face.

"You fell for it, Bobby." Bobby raised his eyes to heaven.

"And you got me to change the subject, Jack." Bobby gave the boy a good stare. "What did you think was enough about the horses?" He watched Jack hesitate for a few long moments before taking a deep breath and answering the question.

"Enough so that you would think I'm useful and let me stay with you. You can be tough, and Angel can be clever and I can do whatever you don't want to do. You already know I'm good with horses. There's loads more stuff I know how to do, or you could teach me, I just wanted. . . I mean, if it's okay with you, it would be. . . I-I think you would. . . I don't eat much. And I have money!" He was breathless by now as he patted the bulging pockets of his worn jeans, his damned face so cautiously hopeful. He was scared shitless, but damned if he wasn't still hopeful.

Bobby cursed himself, more strongly now. He was a fucking _idiot_. He should've spoken to Jack before now, laid out his intentions. Poor kid was bravely following Bobby's lead, all the while thinking he had traded one goddamned master for another. Fuck the analogies. Jack needed straight talk. Bobby stopped walking and turned to face Jack, stooping slightly so their eyes met.

"Listen to me Jack, you're not a baby so I'm not going to treat you like one. I said you were tough, and I meant it. But even the toughest man knows when to lie down before he falls down. I swear if you weren't holding on to my horse, you would have landed on your face in the dirt by now." Jack's gaze dropped back down to his boots, shame coloring his cheeks.

"No, no, it's okay. I get why you're all fucked up right now, and none of it's your fault. Do you hear me Jack? _None_ of this is your fault." Bobby waited until Jack nodded before continuing.

"I'm taking you somewhere you can fill your belly and catch up on some sleep, and me and Angel, we'll watch your back. I know he looks like a fucking peacock, but Angel's almost as tough as me, and when I need him to, he watches out for me. You need someone to see to whatever is wrong with your back, and if anything else is hurting you, you can get that fixed up, too. Okay?"

Jack nodded again, his face still fixed on the ground, the wild mess of his hair shielding his eyes from Bobby's

"And after you're rested up and feeling better, we can talk about what you want to do next. If you want to stick with me and Angel, that'll be just fine with me. In fact, I think I'd like it a lot." Bobby pretended not to see the tears which Jack hastily wiped away with his sleeve. Damn, he'd gone a bit too far. He only wanted Jack's acquiescence, not an emotional scene. "But don't get used to being treated like some helpless fairy princess or anything like that. You're way better with the horses than me or Angel, so don't think I won't take you up on your offer to pitch in. _After_ you're feeling better, okay, buddy?" There. Much better. Jack knew where they were going, and knew he had a place with the Mercers if he wanted. Bobby was pretty pleased with himself for finally getting it right.

"Okay." Bobby heard the hitch in Jack's voice, and started walking again, anxious now to get to Belle's. He didn't have it in him to give the boy another speech. Smacking people around was his forte. He'd best get Jack to Angel if any more talking was required.

Jack followed, dutifully leading Marauder and surreptitiously wiping his eyes every now and then.

* * *

Although Bobby was half expecting it, he almost wasn't quick enough to catch Jack when the boy's energy finally gave out. They had just stabled Marauder behind Belle's, merely removing his tack and giving him a quick brush down as the horse hadn't exerted himself past a slow walk on the way over from Finley's. They left the horse eagerly munching oats and made their way out of the stables into the mid-morning sunlight. They had already seen Angel as they approached the elegant house. He waved to them from the second floor balcony, where he sat with Lucita on his lap. Angel had called down to Bobby that Miss Spencer was awaiting them in a room on the third floor, then after shooting them a lascivious grin, had taken Lucita by the hand and pulled her back into what Bobby supposed was the girl's room.

"Stupid asshole," Bobby had muttered darkly. It wasn't like he needed Angel with him to comfort a traumatized boy or anything. He silently vowed that Angel would foot the bill for the three of them for however long their stay was. . . from his own goddamn funds.

Bobby had just adjusted the saddlebags hanging on his shoulder when he saw all the color drain from Jack's face. Bobby dropped the bags and caught Jack around the shoulders as he fell, twisting him so he landed in Bobby's arms instead of on the hard ground. Bobby knelt in the dirt, cradling Jack with one arm while he pressed his other hand against Jack's forehead, which felt hotter than it should. _Goddamn Angel and his fucking libido!_ Bobby looked up to see Belle running across the yard, with one of her bouncers right behind her. His arms tightened around Jack for a split second, his protective instincts kicking in. Belle must have noticed, since she slowed to a walk, raising her hand to slow her man as well.

"Charlotte's waiting for you on the third floor, in the yellow room on the right," Belle stated quickly, looking down at Jack with concern. "Angel told us you were coming, but I don't know where he's gone to." She looked around as though Angel might suddenly appear.

"Screw Angel," Bobby spat. He nodded at the big man who had arrived with Belle, relaxing his grip on Jack a bit when he registered who it was. "Terrence."

"Bobby," Terrence replied as he knelt on the other side of Jack.

When Bobby had saved Belle's life and subsequently won over her affections, he was also accepted by the men who kept her establishment respectable. Belle's brothel was distinguished as a "good house" in San Francisco, owing in part to the men she hired for the purposes of security as well as insuring payment was made when services were rendered. Belle's fine furnishings and delicate knick-knacks were rarely in danger from unseemly brawls since potential troublemakers were ejected forcefully at the first sign of a disturbance. These mountainous men would crack heads if needed -- their threats to do so usually sufficient to stop a fracas before it started. At their first meeting, Terrence solemnly told Bobby he would be forever grateful to him for stepping in on the night that Belle's husband tried to kill her. He and the other bouncers had been dismissed for the evening by their former employer, none of them realizing that no one was left to guard the brothel. At the time, Bobby had filed away that gratitude for use at some future time. He figured that time was now.

"Terrence, can you help me carry Jack up to Charlotte? He's heavier than he looks." Terrence complied, and while Bobby held Jack's shoulders, Terrence grabbed his legs and they made their way up the stairs to the third floor. Bobby was grateful when Terrence barked at one of his colleagues to fetch the saddle bags Bobby had dropped in the courtyard. Bobby heard Belle calling to someone for hot water and a tub to be brought up immediately. He would express his gratitude later. Right now, all Bobby could do was concentrate on Jack's ashen face, wishing the boy would open his eyes and smirk at him, laugh at him for falling for another joke, Jesus, he could even cry if he wanted, _anything_ except look so damned still.

After Jack was gently laid on the big bed in the sunny room -- as Charlotte was fussing and clucking over him -- as Terrence promised any help Bobby needed, anything at all, with a far too knowing look in his eyes -- after Belle laid a soft hand on his arm and told him that everything would be fine now, that he needn't worry so -- after a slew of help brought buckets of steaming water up to fill a shining copper tub by the crackling fireplace -- did Bobby have a moment for a startling reflection which would have sent his Ma diving for her rosary.

Sometimes murder really did pay.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

****

Chapter Ten

Rated: T for mature themes and language.

**Author's Note: I'd really like to know you think. Reviews are most welcome. Comments, criticisms and suggestions can only make this a better story. )**

* * *

Charlotte Spencer sat calmly next to her patient as Bobby Mercer was forcefully restrained on the floor of the room before he could smash any more furniture. She understood his reaction, even sympathized with it. The terrible sights revealed when she had cut off Jack's clothes sickened her, and had sent Bobby into a rage which only Terrence's intervention had stilled for the moment. She heard Terrence's rumbling voice, attempting to calm Bobby, to bring him back to himself, before Terrence was forced to dunk him in the horse trough out back. Bobby wasn't listening to reason.

_"Stupid motherfucking ass. I'll kill him, Terrence. You let me up right now, because I'm going to kill him with my bare fucking hands."_

Charlotte lifted the washcloth from the bowl of steaming water at her elbow and wrung it out before using it to loosen the dried blood criss-crossing Jack's abdomen. She had learned to disconnect herself from her work during the war. She had seen far, far worse things than this. Her skill had kept her in high demand, and her luck in remaining healthy and whole throughout the conflict had kept her busier than she could have ever imagined. Her coolness under pressure was legendary. To keep from going mad, she had learned to compartmentalize. She would push her sensibility into a corner of her mind and keep it locked away until she was afforded the luxury of weeping for the pitiful souls whose battered bodies she tended. She could only be effective if she remained calm. Bursting into tears might be right womanly of her, but tears did nothing to help heal her patients. Tears were best saved for later, in the darkest hours of the night when sobs from her quarters blended seamlessly with the moans of the injured.

_"Please let me go, Terrence. Just let me up for a minute. I don't give a shit if you think I'll run. Just let me up, goddammit."_

Charlotte made a mental list of the things she would need from the apothecary. She was certain that several of her stores of herbs and medicinals would be depleted by this poor wounded child. She had learned the recipes for several excellent poultices which would draw pus from festering wounds. Jack was too weak for leeches. If he had more meat on his bones, she might have considered them. No, she would use the poultices and brew a tea to help with his fever and make him drink when he wakened. A strong beef tea would be good to keep nearby as well. The poor thing would have to ease into more solid foods. Yes, beef tea would do nicely for now. She worked as quickly as she could to stitch the deepest cut on his belly, slathering it with a foul-smelling but effective healing cream before moving lower.

_"Fuck you, Terrence. Fuck you, you big fucking moron. Don't you dare call for Angel. What the fuck help will he be? Get the fuck off me!"_

Her calmness was misunderstood, and infuriated others who did not have the same ability that she did. In the midst of his struggles with Terrence, Bobby had accused her of being a cold bitch. How could they understand how badly her heart ached for this boy under her hands? Bobby said he was fourteen, but she guessed he was closer to twelve, or else had been very poorly treated far longer than she would have hoped. With a guardian like Bobby, the boy would certainly see better times. . . provided Terrence didn't thump the life out of Bobby. It was a good thing Terrence had taken a good long look at Jack's condition for himself -- he would be as gentle with Bobby as he could. The big man had a heart to match his size. It wouldn't do for all that brotherly protectiveness Bobby was exhibiting to be snuffed out before he had a chance to spend it on Jack. It made Charlotte all the more determined to heal the boy to the best of her abilities.

Charlotte eased Jack onto his side now, propping a pillow beneath his chest and belly to keep him from rolling too far and disturbing her stitching. She needed help with the examination she had to perform now, and needed Bobby Mercer the hell out of the room. She signaled as such to Terrence, who called for reinforcements. It was bad enough that Bobby saw what men's anger had done to Jack. God help them all if he saw the results of their lust.

_"No! No fucking way. You are not taking me out of here. Goddammit, Terrence. Who the fuck is that? Let go of my legs. Let me go, you assholes, fucking let me go!"_

Despite his struggles, Bobby had been carried bodily from the room by Terrence and two of Belle's other bouncers with Angel following close behind, a confused look on his face. Charlotte knew Terrence would fill Angel in and enlist his help in calming his brother. Lucita entered the room, looking as startled as Angel. Commotions like this were rare at Belle's.

Lucita had taken quite a liking to Angel Mercer, who seemed to return her affections and treated her well. Lucita had not always been treated well, and Charlotte hoped that she would be sympathetic and steady during their ministrations to Jack. Lucita nodded solemnly when Charlotte told the girl what needed doing. _Good._ Charlotte did not need anyone else going to pieces around her today, when she was struggling to keep herself calm. She hadn't seen such needless injuries in a long time, and for a moment, she wished that she could raise hell like Bobby Mercer at the unfairness of it all. No. Jack needed her cool and calm. She took a deep breath to steady herself and calmly instructed Lucita on what she needed to do. As Charlotte had hoped, the girl proved an able assistant. It was usually Terrence who helped her with unconscious patients, but he was better suited to keeping Bobby from self-destructing and taking them all with him.

Charlotte and Lucita had to change the water in their washing bowl several more times as they cleansed away the blood and grime on Jack's back, revealing the likely source of his fever. Some of the cuts there were old, untreated, and had become infected. Charlotte scrubbed them as clean as she could while the boy remained blessedly insensate. Cleaning wounds could sometimes hurt worse than receiving them. None of the cuts on his back were deep enough to require stitches, but she doubted they would heal without some scarring.

Charlotte smiled at Lucita and thanked her for her steady hands and calm demeanor. She sent her off to see whether one of the men would help lift Jack into the waiting bath tub. The boy remained unconscious, and Charlotte hoped to get him cleaned up in a hurry. The soap would sting his open wounds, but would soothe the bruises somewhat. She added a packet of medicinal powder to the steaming water, breathing in the pungent herbal scent and fighting memories as she waited for assistance.

* * *

Bobby concentrated on not breathing in too heavily as Terrence pressed his face into the dirt in the courtyard. Bobby heard Angel talking to Terrence, asking what the hell was going on and demanding that Bobby be released immediately or things would get ugly. _Atta boy, Angel. You tell him._ Bobby had all-too-recently saved Jack from kissing the dirt in nearly the same spot when the boy had passed out, a grim irony. Bobby couldn't help but think of all the things Jack hadn't been saved from. . .

Bobby really had intended to remain calm and to give Charlotte whatever assistance she required. Jack lay pale and motionless while Charlotte wiped off his dirty face, pulled open his closed eyelids one at a time and then lay her ear on his chest to listen to his heart. She held one of his wrists and concentrated on it, then reached to the bedside table for her shears. She teased Bobby as she cut away the too-small clothes, that Jack would need some new things, and that Angel would probably be pleased to provide assistance with the shopping. Bobby smiled wryly at that and made a mental note to buy Jack some new clothes while the kid was sleeping. Lord help them if Angel tried to dress the kid. One peacock in their group was already too much.

Charlotte made quick work of Jack's shirt and pants, dropping them to the floor behind her after she had eased them off the motionless boy. That was when Bobby had utterly lost the ability to keep his cool. All sound faded to a horribly loud buzz, Bobby's vision narrowed so only Jack was visible to him, the other people and things in the room part of a hazy nimbus of otherness. Time itself seemed to stop as he looked at what had been done to Jack. _What had once been done to him._ All Bobby could see were the bruises on Jack's chest, the festering cuts across his abdomen and thighs, and God help him, the finger-shaped bruises on Jack's hips.

He wasn't aware when his breathing turned ragged, or of the animalistic growl which tore from his throat and startled even the icy Charlotte. He never felt a thing as he turned the chair he had been sitting in to firewood when he smashed it against the edge of the fireplace, never saw Charlotte shield Jack with her own body from Bobby's sudden violence. Before he could lay his hands on something else to destroy, strong arms surrounded him, dragging him up off his feet before slamming him face-first to the carpet.

He remembered screaming, begging, threatening, struggling and failing miserably to dislodge the hold on him. His words had fallen on deaf ears, his struggles overwhelmed by stronger arms. Everything that happened between seeing Jack's battered body and tasting the dirt of the courtyard became a red-filled blur.

Now he lay panting in the dirt, slowly coming back to himself. The arms did not release him, but lessened in number. Bobby reckoned he was held by one man now instead of three. He would wait. Wait for the arms to relax just a bit more, and he would gain his release. He lay waiting for his chance at escape when Angel's face suddenly appeared in front of him.

* * *

Angel had just finished giving Lucita a good, long kiss hello -- hadn't even removed his guns yet -- when all hell had broken loose on the third floor. He heard Terrence shouting for help and saw two other burly men rush up the stairs past Lucita's door. He waited alongside Lucita, watching from the doorway to see what the commotion was when he heard Bobby's rage-filled screams and Terrence's shouts for Angel to come quickly. _What the fuck?_

He had bolted up the stairs, coming to a halt outside the door, his way blocked by the men struggling with Bobby on the floor. He tried to see where the boy Jack was, and caught a glimpse of him on the bed under Charlotte's protective stance. He stood, frozen in place as Charlotte ordered Terrence to get Bobby the hell out of the room. Angel backed up to give them room, and after a final helpless glance at Charlotte, followed Terrence and the others out into the courtyard behind the house. His hand spasmed over the gun on his hip, clenching and unclenching on the grip. He was torn between the need to help his brother and the knowledge that something was very, very wrong with Bobby. Had he been drugged? He had seen horses go crazy like this after eating loco weed, but had never seen a human being behave as such. Angel had seen Bobby fly into rages plenty of times before, but there was always some element of control in his brother's violence. There was nothing controlled about Bobby now, and Angel was terrified. He finally found his voice.

"What in the hell is happening, Terrence? What did you do to him? Let him go!"

"Not yet, Angel. He took one look at the kid and went crazy. Smashed a chair up and would have done worse if I hadn't tackled him. You get him to calm down and I'll let him go. Talk to him!" Terrence shouted the last part, twisting in the dirt as Bobby renewed his efforts to break free.

"This is about the kid? Jack?"

"Yeah," Terrence answered with a heavy sigh. "Poor kid is beat up pretty bad. Nasty stuff happened to that boy, and not just once."

"Jesus," Angel breathed. He moved his hand away from his gun and sat heavily in the dirt next to Bobby's head. Bobby's eyes were squeezed shut, his breaths scattering puffs of dirt in front of his mouth. When Bobby finally opened his eyes, Angel did not hesitate to lower himself so his brother could see him.

"Jesus Christ, Bobby. Are you in there now? You done trying to kill Terrence?"

Angel saw Bobby's eyes narrow. Any other time, that look might have sent Angel running for the hills, but he ignored it now. Terrence had Bobby well in hand.

"Look, you need to calm down, Bobby Mercer. Whatever needs doing, we'll get it done, you know we will, but you need to calm the fuck down and tell me why you're losing your mind like this."

Bobby spat out the dirt which had accumulated in his mouth. "Tell him to let me up," he ordered. Terrence shook his head at Angel's glance. Angel blew his breath out in a gust. Terrence knew more about raving lunatics than he did, and Angel trusted his judgment. He'd have to get Bobby a bit calmer before Terrence would move. _Please, Lord, give me the strength to do this._

"Not yet," he told Bobby evenly. "Not until you tell me what's got you so hot. Is this about Jack?" Oh, that did not go at all as Angel had hoped. Bobby heaved and spat, growling -- _growling!_ -- at Angel in response.

"Okay, okay, you need to tell me what happened. Just. . . Jesus, Bobby, calm down and tell me what happened." Angel watched Bobby pant into the dirt, his eyes squeezed shut once again.

"You didn't see him Angel."

"No, I didn't. In fact, I never laid eyes on the kid before this morning, and neither did you, so what are you so damned upset about?"

"Not this morning. I saw him five days ago, Angel. I saw him, and knew what he was, what was happening, and I didn't do anything. He was right in front of me in that alley, and I could have stopped it, stopped the worst of it, but I didn't."

"This is about you feeling guilty for not swooping in and saving some kid in an alley five days ago? Do you know how crazy that sounds, Bobby?"

"I don't give a fuck how you think it sounds, Angel. I could have stopped it and I didn't."

"How the hell can you feel guilty over things you had nothing to do with? Jesus, Bobby, do you know how many kids you've ignored who were probably even worse off than this kid? How many we pass in this filthy city? All of a sudden you can see them and that changes everything? You think Jack is the only boy in San Francisco getting hurt that way?"

"I didn't know then, Angel. I didn't remember." Angel frowned at that response. _Remember what?_

"You told me you saw him some alley," Angel tried. "How many fucking kids have you seen in alleys in your life Bobby? I'm not saying you didn't do a good thing getting Jack away from that man. But seriously, you can't blame yourself for what happened before. All you can do is treat him right now. You ever apologize to Jerry for not getting him out sooner? Hell, did you ever apologize to me for leaving me with my daddy as long as you did?"

"That's fucking different. You and Jerry were different," Bobby protested.

"No Bobby, it's exactly the same. You didn't even fucking _know_ this boy until this morning. I don't care if you remember him from no alley. You saved him this morning. Let that be enough. Goddammit, it's probably more than the kid expected. Let it be enough."

Angel saw that he was finally getting through to his brother, and went in for the kill.

"You see Ma _praying_ for all the souls she can't help. You don't see her breaking up furniture and causing a commotion likely to get us thrown out of a good place. Look at yourself Bobby. Take a goddamn long look at yourself. You're face down in the dirt. You think this is good for that boy upstairs, you losing your mind like this? What would Ma think of the way you're behaving, Bobby? Would you be one lick of good to her or _anyone_ else at this moment?"

_Bull's-eye!_ Angel finally saw a touch of shame coloring Bobby's exposed cheek.

"It's a good thing these folks are beholden to you because if this was my place I would have shot you by now. You're my brother and I love you, but if you don't finish calming your damn self down right quick, I will lend Terrence your own gun to shoot you with. I mean it," he added at Bobby's incredulous look. Angel glared at Bobby long enough to make sure he got the message.

At length, Angel nodded to Terrence, who gingerly let go of Bobby and backed away. Terrence didn't go too far, in case he was needed again, but moved out of earshot now that Bobby had gained control of himself.

Angel helped Bobby sit up, ignoring the dust which now liberally coated his fine clothing. His brother's mental health was worth all the cloth in Frisco. He gripped the back of Bobby's neck with a single hand and pulled their foreheads together.

"You know I love you, Bobby, you know I do, but you can't go crazy like that on me. Please help me understand why you went and lost it back there. You've seen people beat up before. Hell, you're the one doing the beatings most of the time. How come seeing Jack did that to you?"

"Because I _was_ him, Angel. Before Ma, before you and Jerry, that was me."

The soft confession stunned Angel. He sat in silence next to his brother, matching his breaths as the truth sank in. Angel had only ever known Bobby as a brash, tough, capable young man who had the most patient mother in the world. His temper was legendary, as was his protective streak towards those things he considered his own. Once Bobby's mother became Angel's mother, too, Angel was one of the things that Bobby protected fiercely. He figured Ma knew what Bobby's life was like before, but Angel had never known. Bobby wasn't really the type to reminisce. If Bobby's childhood memories were bad enough to send him into a fit the likes of the one today, then Angel was grateful he didn't know more about them.

"We all had terrible lives, Bobby. Bottom of the fucking barrel, worst-of-the-worst, shitty lives before Ma came along. But she saved you, Bobby, Ma saved you, and you helped save me. Now you saved Jack. And I'm going to help you with him. Anything he needs, Bobby, we'll take care of him right. Get him home to Ma and help spoil him as rotten as she spoils Jerry's girls. Okay?"

Angel remained in place, his forehead pressed to his brother's, one hand clasped to the back of Bobby's neck and the other now grasping Bobby's shoulder. He waited until Bobby finally let loose a shuddering sigh before pulling away.

They sat for a few minutes more, facing each other in the dirt, Bobby's eyes boring into Angel's, seeming to soak up his brother's confidence, taking it for his own. Bobby had scared Angel near to death that morning, but he had also saved him back when Angel was around Jack's age. The loyalty and love between the brothers was palpable. Angel knew he had been shown a side of Bobby that few had ever seen, and he silently vowed never to break that sacred trust. He sent Bobby a tentative smile, which was finally returned.

Angel's racing heart had just about returned to a normal beat when a terrified scream rent the air of the courtyard, coming from an open window on the third floor.

_"Bobby!!"_

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	11. Chapter 11

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

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**Chapter Eleven**

Jack came back to awareness surrounded by a strange, penetrating warmth. Tendrils of pain rose up to lap at his belly and across the plane of his back, but receded just as quickly. He did not attempt to move, fascinated by the sensations and wondering where he could possibly be. If there was pain, then surely he must have been hurt, but could not recall when or by what. He remained in this odd limbo for a time, the warmth and the pain warring over his skin -- now waxing, now waning, now waxing once more -- a teasing dance of sensations designed to drive him mad if he let them. But no, he would not let them touch his mind. He would simply be, and then they could not bother him overmuch.

Perhaps because of his attentiveness, the cycle of feeling suddenly shifted. He sought the mental equilibrium which had simply let him float amid gentle sensations, but it was not to be. Pain flared more sharply across his shoulders, driving his mind from its sanctuary. He gasped at the shock of it, and the sound of his own voice made him aware of other sounds as well.

There was a fire nearby, crackling hotly. He felt the heat of it on his face and shoulders, but it did not account for the warmth surrounding the rest of him, which puzzled him greatly. There was also a voice.

_"Easy, Jack. It's okay. Be still now."_

It was a woman's voice. A woman? And she knew his name. But shouldn't it have been a man?

The pain across his shoulders expanded further and blazed a path down the length of his spine. The surrounding warmth did nothing now to help ease the pain, and it frightened Jack. He tried to move away from the pain but could find no leverage. His body slid through the warmth, drawing the heat further up his chest and back, but the pain persisted. He twisted his body, and the warmth fled one side of him and scaled the other. His belly flared into pain along with his back now, causing him to emit another gasp.

_"Please, Jack. Please be still. I'll go quickly and then we'll be done here. Shhh, be still."_

Jack did not know that voice, and he sure as hell didn't believe a thing it said. All he knew was that he was vulnerable, he hurt, and he needed to get away from the warmth which now brought only pain. Pressure joined the warmth on his body. Something was run up and down his sides, across his chest and around his neck. The motion was repeated, but this time the pressure grazed the places where he hurt. He turned his head and tried again to move away. His body rocked forwards, but slid back just as quickly. _What the hell?_

He reached out his hands, grasping for purchase, but his fists merely closed around wetness. A dawning understanding brushed at his mind but fled before it could take hold. He opened and closed his fists, marveling that he could _feel_ something, but could not contain it. The pain continued to build in his belly and his back, now joined by a stinging across his thighs. The scratching pressure had moved up and down his legs, twisting around his feet and behind his knees despite his efforts to avoid it, awakening sensation in his wounded legs. He rocked away again, more violently now. As before, the movement did not free him, but it did bring to life a throbbing ache at his very center. Panic began to creep in to his mind.

Jack reached out again, and this time his hands brushed metal before closing yet again on a warm nothingness. Metal? Had they caged him? _Oh, good lord, no._ He began to struggle in earnest now, feeling hands grasp his arms, pressing down on his shoulders. _No!_ The pain in his back burned hotly, hampering his efforts to free himself. He kicked out his legs, and cried out when his feet met solid metal. He was caged! He tried to gain leverage on the hard surface with his feet but hands were on his legs now. The voices grew louder, calling his name, demanding he be still. _No, no, no!_

Jack was tiring as his awareness burgeoned. There were too many hands, and the pain had grown too much. He was naked and vulnerable, surrounded by a cloying warmth which hindered instead of soothed him. He tried ducking back away from the grasping hands and suddenly found he couldn't breathe. Water! He was surrounded by water! He choked, sputtered and began coughing harshly. The hands grasped more firmly on his arms, keeping him in place. Several female voices now pleaded with him to be still, to be patient, to let them finish. He shook his head, emitting an angry moan of denial.

_"You're safe, Jack. Don't fight us, you're safe."_

Safe? This wasn't safe. Safe was something else entirely. Someone else. Safe was not a woman, it was a man. Safe was a very angry man who stood up for him, who had been worried about him, and who had promised to watch out for him. _Where was he?_

Jack was too tired to fight the hands and the pain anymore. He needed the safety only one person could give him. When his brain finally gave him that name, he threw back his head and screamed as loudly as he could manage.

**"Bobby!"**

He gasped for more air, tears now burning his cheeks as the pain continued to burn throughout his body. _Oh please help me!_

**"Bobby!"**

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

Every hair on the back of Bobby's neck and down each arm stood on end at the sound of the terrified scream. Sparing a glance at Angel, who looked as rattled as Bobby had ever seen him, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the house. Terrence stood aside as Bobby passed him, but followed directly after. The look on the big man's face matched Angel's, and Bobby knew Terrence would not stop him from approaching the house. Bobby could hear both Terrence's and Angel's boots pounding the stairs behind his own as he tore up the two flights of stairs to the third floor. His heart was in his throat as he burst through the door, scared of what he would find in the room.

The rational part of his brain told him that Charlotte Spencer was a fine nurse, and would never do anything to harm a patient. He had heard her story from Belle and from others. He knew she was likely more capable than most of the doctors in the city, and asked fewer questions. After all, her best friend was running a whore house, and Charlotte seemed happy enough to care for its denizens, those both on and off the payroll. Irrational thoughts, however, kept hammering away at Bobby's reasoning. What if Charlotte had suddenly had a break from reality? Experience had shown Bobby what men and women were capable of when pressed, and the depths to which they could sink when despair became stronger than hope. What if she remembered some horrifying experience from the war which caused her to snap and harm Jack? What if Jack's injuries were worse than Bobby had seen? Had Jack harmed himself?

The scene in the room gave him no answers, but alleviated some of his fears. No great pools of blood were visible, no dead bodies lay twisted on the carpet. Both Charlotte and Jack were there, as was Lucita. Bobby stopped in the doorway, prudence telling him to pause before rushing in, and for once, he chose to listen. His short length of experience with Jack had shown that caution was best when handling the boy. He felt Terrence stop behind him and raised a hand, barring any further progress. Angel shuffled to a stop behind them as well.

Bobby saw that Jack was submerged to his shoulders in a huge brass tub, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub so hard his knuckles were white and shaking. Water sloshed in the tub as Jack struggled to get his legs beneath him, the slippery tub hindering his efforts. He moaned in frustration as he slid sideways, his death grip on the sides keeping his head from going under the water.

Lucita stood several feet away, twisting a wash cloth between her hands. She met Bobby's eyes as he glanced at her, and offered him a sad smile before returning her gaze to Jack. Charlotte knelt by the tub, and her focus remained fixed on Jack despite Bobby's appearance. She, too, held a washcloth in one hand, but it lay in her lap. The other hand rested on the edge of the tub, away from where Jack's hands gripped, but close enough to reach him quickly if needed.

"Bobby," Jack moaned softly as his legs failed again to gain traction in the tub. He was crying through his efforts, soft hiccupping sobs interspersed with grunts of frustration and Bobby's name. It was the sound of his name which finally brought Bobby into the room.

He had made it halfway to the bathtub, flanked by Terrence and Angel when the sound of a cocking gun behind him had him spinning and reflexively reaching for his own gun.

Belle stood in the doorway, an old coach gun in her hands, aimed into the room. She was out of breath, but wore a fierce scowl. She took in the scene in front of her and a moment later had lowered the gun, the scowl now replaced with a confused look. Bobby, Terrence and Angel each slid their weapons back into their holsters, with Terrence letting loose a string of curses as he did so.

"What are you thinking of, woman? Don't you pay me to handle trouble here? Where did you get that old relic?" he asked, gesturing at the coach gun.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Terrence, I've never heard such a sound in my life," Belle said breathlessly. "I thought he was being murdered!"

"By Charlotte? Or Lucita?" Terrence asked incredulously.

"For heaven's sake, no," Belle snapped right back. "But you were out back with this one," a jerk of her head at Bobby, "and I swear my blood turned cold when I heard the boy crying out."

Bobby turned his attention away from Belle after Terrence removed the gun from her hands and moved into the hall with her, speaking soothingly as he shepherded her out. Angel had moved to stand next to Lucita, slinging an arm around her shoulders as their attention now turned back to Jack.

"He's lost in a fever dream," Charlotte said calmly when Bobby met her eyes. "I hoped he would remain sleeping while we bathed him. The soap can sometimes sting."

_Was she ever anything but calm?_ Bobby wondered.

"Bobby," Jack sighed miserably. Bobby could tell that Jack had no idea where he was, or that the object of his cries was standing not five feet away from him. Jack's face and neck were flushed with fever. The sight of Jack's cuts and bruises twisted Bobby's guts into an angry knot, but he fought down the rage which had overcome him earlier. The struggle with Terrence and his talk with Angel had gone a long way towards calming his rage. He had a few thoughts about what he could do to eradicate the helpless anger he still felt, but for now he needed to calm Jack if he could. He nodded at Charlotte, who merely raised her eyebrows at him. He had not done anything to raise himself in her esteem, and knew he owed her a hell of an apology later. _Later._

"Jack," he called softly. "I'm right here, buddy." He crouched down on the opposite side of the tub from where Charlotte still knelt and placed a hand over one of Jack's. The result was explosive.

Jack flailed violently away from his touch, submerging himself completely for a moment before bursting up out of the water, coughing and choking on the water he had just inhaled. The motion had put his knees under him, though, and he used this opportunity to scramble out of the tub. After having backed away a few steps at Jack's outburst, Bobby now lunged for the boy, wrapping his arms around him from behind and trapping Jack's arms at his sides. His shirt and pants were soaked in an instant, both from the splash from the tub and from the water dripping off Jack. He expected Jack to struggle, and was not disappointed. Jack kicked his legs out, striking the tub with a foot before Bobby backed them into the center of the room. Bobby tightened his embrace when Jack tried to twist first up, then down from the arms holding him in place. When this failed to earn his release, Jack flung his head back, only missing Bobby's chin by a hairsbreadth. Bobby moved with Jack as the boy tried again to kick away from Bobby, noting that Angel had moved over and closed the door. If Jack escaped Bobby, he wouldn't get far.

His lapse in attention earned Bobby a solid blow in the mouth when Jack flung his head back again.

"Enough! Calm the fuck down, Jack. Jesus Christ!" he shouted right into Jack's ear, more startled than hurt by the blow, and forgetting all thoughts of calmness. Surprisingly, Jack stilled.

"Bobby?" Jack's voice was hoarse from screaming and from coughing up bathwater.

"Yeah, Jack. It's me."

"You came." The astonishment he heard in Jack's voice made Bobby's guts twist again, but this time the emotion wasn't anger at all. A surge of protectiveness had taken hold in Bobby now. Judging from the wonder he heard in Jack's voice, the poor kid thought Bobby had abandoned him _Like hell!_ Bobby's arms tightened just a bit around the boy in his embrace.

"Of course I came, Jackie. And Angel's here, too. Just like I told you."

"I'm sorry," Jack sighed. By now, Charlotte had sidled up to Bobby, towels in her arms and a purposeful look on her face. She nodded in the direction of the bed. Bobby nodded back.

"Nothing to be sorry about, buddy. You're just a little confused right now. Pretty strange thing, waking up in a bathtub if you don't know how you got there, hmm?"

"I'm sorry," Jack repeated, even as his legs followed Bobby's and stumbled towards the bed. Charlotte lay the towels down on top of the sheets and pillow, and Angel moved to help Bobby lift the somnolent Jack up onto the bed. As Bobby released Jack's shoulders, the boy's hands darted out to grasp the front of Bobby's shirt before he could move away.

"Please," Jack whispered. "Please." Another hiccupping sob slipped out.

"Hey now, I'm not going anywhere," Bobby soothed, working Jack's fingers free from the material of his shirt and wrapping both hands around one of Jack's. "Just need to get you settled."

Charlotte pulled a sheet up over Jack, which served to soak up the rest of the water on his skin, and to shield his body from the cool morning air. She then turned to the bottles on the side of the bed. Charlotte poured a measure out from a tall brown bottle and held the cup up to Bobby.

"Can you get him to drink this? It's laudanum, to help him sleep and relieve any pain."

"Hey Jack, Jackie, you still with me?" Bobby asked. He felt Jack's grip tighten in his. "I'm going to sit you up so you can drink something, okay?" Bobby pulled one hand free and raised Jack's head from the pillow, maintaining his grip on Jack's hand with the other. The ever-efficient Charlotte pulled the sodden towel off Jack's pillow and replaced it with another before realizing that Bobby had no hands free to deliver the medicine to Jack. She held the cup and made encouraging noises while Jack drank his first sip.

Grimacing, Jack turned his head away and groaned. Bobby chuckled as Jack stuck his tongue out before smacking his lips in distaste.

"I know, buddy. Tastes like shit, but you need it. Drink up," Bobby ordered.

Jack blinked his eyes and focused on Bobby's face, so near his own. Bobby met his gaze, nodding when Jack let out a soft sigh.

"I'm right here, Jack. I've got your back. It's okay."

Charlotte had the cup ready. It took more than one sip, interspersed with a few deep sighs from Jack, but eventually Jack drank the entire contents of the cup. Within minutes, Jack was sound asleep.

Bobby's focus stayed on Jack's face as Charlotte used a towel to gently dry the boy's hair. He heard some men arrive to remove the tub from the room, another man pulling up the sopping wet carpet and replacing it with a dry one at the same time. Angel came over and gripped Bobby's shoulder for a long moment before departing with Lucita, probably to finish what they had started earlier.

Bobby forced himself not to watch when Charlotte pulled the sheet down and applied more salve to the cuts on the front of Jack's body. It was tricky, but he managed to maintain his grip on Jack's hand when she ministered to the wounds on his back, his other hand holding the boy against his own chest while Charlotte worked. Charlotte wordlessly worked around their joined hands when she tucked the sheet and blankets up around Jack's shoulders. Then it was Charlotte's hand which gripped Bobby's shoulder where Angel's had, while an approving hand ran down the back of his head. He knew he still owed Charlotte an apology, but figured he was probably forgiven.

Bobby remained in place long after Charlotte had gathered her things and departed the room. He heard her speaking with Belle and Terrence in the hallway before they moved away to other parts of the house. The light in the room slowly faded from noon to late afternoon as the water evaporated from his shirt and pants. Still Bobby remained at Jack's side, long after the hand which had so fiercely gripped his own had gone slack.

Before Bobby lived with his Ma, he had never been given a promise which hadn't been broken. He had known pain and disappointment and learned to mistrust and hate the world into which he had been born. It was only the deep love and unflinching devotion of Evelyn Mercer which had changed his life for the better. She had weathered every bit of resistance Bobby had thrown at her, sometimes with grace, other times through a stubbornness which surpassed even Bobby's. Finally, Bobby had learned to trust.

Jack, on the other hand, wasn't as far gone as Bobby had been, despite being older than Bobby had been when Evelyn had taken him in. He had actually called out to Bobby, had _reached_ for him and _clung_ to him in his fevered state. Bobby was amazed that Jack could still trust, and utterly humbled that he had placed that trust in Bobby Mercer. Any self-consciousness Bobby might have felt at sitting vigil at the bedside of a boy he barely knew vanished easily in the face of that trust. Bobby owed it to Jack to prove worthy of that trust, and holding the boy's hand to keep his terror at bay seemed a small enough thing.

Bobby watched Jack's face, studying each bruise and guessing at their ages. He recalled the marks on Jack's chest and belly, his memory providing him with information enough to leave the blankets in place. Bobby had seen the injuries to Jack's back while the boy huddled, terrified, in the tub. All the hurts were catalogued in Bobby's mind. Instead of fueling an irrational anger, they produced in him a deadly calm, the calm which eluded him before now. Now, he had a plan and his brother Angel to aid him in carrying it out.

Pollard was going to pay for every mark on the boy's body as well as the hidden ones on his soul. Long after the afternoon sunlight had faded to dusk, Bobby maintained his grip on Jack's hand and planned his revenge.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Rated: T for mature themes and language. Comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcomed!

* * *

Bobby made a point to smile as warmly as he could manage when Charlotte re-entered the room late in the day. She had truly helped Jack and yet Bobby had behaved like a lunatic in front of her. While this wouldn't normally bother him, Belle's was a place he'd rather not get thrown out of, and Jack was nowhere near ready to leave... probably wouldn't be for a few more days at least. Jack needed Charlotte, and so Bobby needed her, too. Maybe he could turn on a little Mercer charm and sweeten her opinion of him. Ma swore he had it in him, and she would never lie to him.

The sun had not yet disappeared, but the lengthening shadows and his growling stomach told him it was past suppertime, and Bobby was mildly annoyed that Angel hadn't brought him up something to eat. He had turned down offers from others who had passed by the room, hoping Angel would appear so he could talk to him. Looks like he would have to go find his errant brother himself.

Belle had visited Bobby earlier that afternoon, and had gracefully accepted his apology. She had then evenly informed him that he had officially used up her reservoir of obligation towards him, and further behavior such as he had displayed that afternoon would not be tolerated. Ruining her stern appearance, she had then fussed a bit over Jack, straightening his blankets and smoothing back his hair before leaving the room. Bobby snickered once she was gone and reckoned that he would simply rely on some of the goodwill Jack had built up with the proprietress if he needed it later. Belle was no more a fusser than Bobby was, but she seemed quite taken by Jack. Bobby supposed Belle felt pity for Jack, and couldn't blame her, since she hadn't seen Jack's tough side yet. Jack might look like a lost lamb at the moment, all beat up and drugged into slumber like he was, but Bobby knew better.

Charlotte entered with a tray, which she placed on the table next to the bed. If she noticed Bobby's smile, she gave no indication, so Bobby dropped it. He had abandoned holding Jack's hand when Belle had entered, and had not taken it again. The urgency which drove him to grasp the boy's hand to begin with had passed, and the laudanum Charlotte had given Jack kept his dreams at bay. Jack was likely enjoying the first bout of solid rest he had seen in a while.

Charlotte lowered the blanket and quickly examined the wounds across the front of Jack's body.

"They look good," she said softly. She directed Bobby to lift Jack up, and as before, Bobby propped Jack's head on his shoulder after sitting next to him on the bed. Charlotte spent a bit more time examining the wounds on Jack's back. Bobby thought Jack's skin was still too hot, and mentioned it to Charlotte.

"It's to be expected," she murmured. "He'll sleep for a day or more, but he's not so weak as to worry me too much. He's strong enough to see this through." She nodded brusquely and helped Bobby lower Jack back onto the bed. Together, they maneuvered him onto his side, tucking a pillow into Jack's arms and laying another at his back to keep him in place. There was nothing more to do for Jack now, but before Bobby could even begin to employ his enviable Mercer sweet-talking skills on Charlotte, his stomach growled audibly, drawing a smile from her.

"Why don't you head downstairs for a spell? The boy will sleep for a while yet."

Bobby hesitated, recalling the horrible sound of Jack's screams, but at the same time wanting to speak with Angel and Terrence about what needed doing. He had to catch Angel before he headed out for the evening. And he was pretty hungry. . .

"Go on, Bobby. I'll stay with him if it makes you feel better. I've already had my supper and could do with a bit of _peace and quiet_ for a change." Charlotte gave him such a look as she over-enunciated that last phrase, Bobby couldn't help but laugh. Looks like the Mercer charm needed no words at all! He thoroughly shocked Miss Spencer by planting a wet kiss on her cheek before sauntering from the room. He glanced back as he reached the door, seeing her blushing furiously even as she smiled.

Oh yes, Charlotte had definitely forgiven him.

* * *

Bobby made his way to the dining room on the first floor, finding Angel playing cards with several of Belle's customers, some of whom had girls on their laps as they played. Bobby figured Angel was merely killing time. No way would Angel stand for shenanigans like that during a serious game. He waved at his brother before poking his head into the kitchen and asking for some dinner. Bobby found a table which placed a wall at his back and gave him a good view of the room as well as the door, then checked the gun at his hip before sitting down. Bobby knew that Terrence or one of Belle's other men were just outside the door as well as on each floor of the building, but he took his and Angel's safety too seriously to leave it solely to others. A few minutes after his food was brought out, Angel joined him.

"How's Jack?" Angel asked.

"Better. Charlotte's with him now." Bobby snickered in between bites of potatoes.

"What'd you do, Bobby. I know that look."

"Planted one on her. Made her blush like a little girl. You're not the only Mercer with charm, you know." Angel chuckled while rolling his eyes.

"If you think making a spinster like Charlotte blush puts you anywhere near the level of my charming self, you're sadly mistaken. You get _Belle_ to blush and I might give you some credit." Bobby had taken an overly large bite of steak so could only glare at Angel as he continued to chuckle at Bobby's expense.

"Hey, speaking of Charlotte, she gave me this to hold. Where'd you get all this money?" Angel asked, holding up the cash and bags of coins Jack had taken from Pollard. Bobby swallowed hard and took a swig of beer to clear his throat.

"That belongs to Jack. Little fucker took it right off Pollard's body while the jackass was lying in the hay." Angel grunted in approval.

"No wonder you took a shine to him. So, you want to tell me who this Pollard is, and why Jack stole all his money?"

All the mirth left Bobby's face at Angel's question. _Fuck no_, he didn't want to tell Angel about Pollard, since he had already hinted at sharing a similar past as Jack's.

But this was his brother.

He trusted Angel with his life, and Angel had never let him down. He needed Angel 100 percent on board with whatever he planned for Pollard, and the quickest way to get him there would be to tell him everything he knew. Not that Angel wouldn't back him if he hadn't a clue what was up. Case in point was how easily Angel had accepted Jack's presence that morning. But Bobby wasn't lying to Jack when he called Angel a clever son of a bitch. He was as cunning as Bobby was ruthless. And Bobby aimed to put that cunning to work to get some retribution for Jack and to put a sick motherfucking pervert out of business. . . permanently.

Angel waited patiently as Bobby wrestled with his decision. He seemed to know when Bobby was ready to talk, though, so when Angel called out for a bottle of whisky and two glasses, Bobby grinned appreciatively across the table at his brother. Angel was a clever son of a bitch indeed.

* * *

Bobby told this tale the same way Bobby told every tale, quickly and laced with expletives. Angel had asked a few questions to clarify some of the parts Bobby glossed over a bit too quickly, but he knew he had not been spared any important details. By the time Bobby had finished, half the bottle was gone.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Angel asked Bobby. There was no question that something had to be done. Something which did not involve contacting the local authorities. Bobby had practically adopted Jack, which meant Pollard would be getting wrath of God style treatment from Bobby for hurting a Mercer, or an almost-Mercer. Distinctions like that weren't important now. Seeing how Bobby spoke about this kid, Angel had no doubt that Jack would be around for a good long time. That made Jack _his_ brother, too, and he would do anything for his brothers. Angel had thought up several possibilities on how they might handle Pollard, but this was primarily Bobby's deal. He'd back Bobby up on whatever he decided.

"I haven't nailed it down yet," Bobby replied with a glint in his eyes. Oh, Angel would definitely leave this to Bobby. No one could match Bobby Mercer at full-on wrath of God style revenge. "Besides it's too soon for any of that," Bobby added. Angel nodded thoughtfully.

"We need to find that motherfucker first."

"I knew there was a good reason why you're my favorite brother, Angel." Bobby reached over to rub the top of Angel's head as he spoke. Angel batted the hand away, but grinned at Bobby's response. He'd heard him say the exact same thing to Jerry, but from Bobby, teasing like that was high praise indeed. He thought a bit more about what he needed to do as he sipped at his whisky.

"Say Bobby, this Pollard character knows what you look like. Am I going out on my own?"

"No fucking way, Angel. No one goes out alone in this damned city," Bobby muttered darkly before a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Not if we can get one of Belle's guys to take the night off and go with you. Hell, let's just ask who has the night off already and see if they want to make some extra cash."

Angel nodded, then leaned back in his chair and shared a conspiratorial grin with his brother. There was a lot more to figure out, and any number of things that could go wrong, but damn if it didn't feel good to plan on skirting the law like this with Bobby. He wanted his Ma to be proud of him, but he had been born on the wrong side of the law, and had lived the majority of his life there as well. Angel sometimes felt he was more suited to shady dealings than honest card games. If Evelyn Mercer hadn't spent the past seven years disabusing him of that notion, loving him unreservedly and challenging him to live an upstanding life, he didn't know where he might be today. Dead, probably. Or in jail, at the very least.

Nevertheless, Angel felt that old familiar thrill like when he was setting up a con with his daddy back in the old days. Before things went so bad. . . Besides, Bobby would never let anything happen to Angel. Bobby Mercer was ten times the man his daddy ever was.

His mind was racing with ideas on how he would go about finding Pollard, even as he watched Bobby wave Terrence over to them, ostensibly to get Angel some discreet backup for the evening. He didn't know this kid Jack all that well, but he would do his best to do right by him.

After all, he was a Mercer.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

See chapter one for disclaimers.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

After seeing Angel off with one of Belle's off-duty bouncers, a man by the name of Hank, Bobby remained at the table to finish his dinner and sip another shot of whisky with Terrence, who had joined him. When Terrence first came over, Bobby had started to apologize to Terrence but was waved off quickly.

"It's okay Bobby, I saw him too," was all Terrence would say. Bobby poured him a whisky after snagging another glass and they sat companionably for a while, trading stories. Terrence spoke of the influx of inexpensive Chinese whores, and the impact they were having on Belle's, which was minimal. Belle was even considering hiring one or two of the more high end girls, but had experienced difficulty in separating the women from the male members of their families, who demanded all of their pay. Seems they were being used as a means of support for the unemployed rail workers, and were a valuable commodity to their families. The fathers, brothers and in some instances husbands of these women gave them little to no freedom to make their own decisions. Belle had a strict policy on letting her girls turn a decent profit for their efforts. She was always open to adding a new face or two, and would continue to entertain the notion of an independent exotic beauty or two to add to the mix of girls she currently employed.

Bobby nodded thoughtfully throughout, recalling the difficulties his mother had known as a widow on her own before Bobby was old enough to knock sense into certain people for her. Bobby knew lots of women who were sillier than geese or dumber than sheep, and clearly needed a strong male influence in their lives. But more and more, Bobby had come into contact with women like his mother and Belle, both of whom were strong, intelligent and successful, and had gotten there mostly on their own.

Bobby told Terrence a somewhat abridged version of Jack's history -- what Bobby knew of it anyway. He'd let Jack fill in the holes later if he wanted to. Personally, Bobby thought that his Ma would make a much better audience for that sort of tale than Bobby ever would. She would stand ready to give him a hug, or to wipe away his tears or just listen to him. She knew so much more about those sorts of things, but if Jack decided Bobby needed to know anything, then he'd be ready. If Jack wanted to get angry and hit something, then Bobby would actually relish that sort of therapy. It always worked splendidly for him.

If Terrence wondered why this particular boy had caught Bobby's attention, he didn't ask, for which Bobby was grateful, since he didn't think he could explain it to anyone but family, and even then hesitantly. Bobby and Terrence chatted about other inconsequential things while the room around them got more boisterous as customers arrived after their own suppers elsewhere. Terrence eventually drained the last of his whisky, and with a tip of his hat as thanks to Bobby, headed outside to help watch over the main entrance. Bobby spent a few minutes at his table just watching the customers, trying to determine who might turn out to be trouble. None immediately caught his attention. Troublemakers tended to favor less fancy places than Belle's, and unless Bobby was mistaken, tonight would prove to be a peaceful one.

* * *

Bobby walked back upstairs, his belly full and his head considerably lighter. He hardly ever drank whisky on the nights when he was backing up Angel. In fact, it was rare that he let his guard down enough to get drunk at all. He wasn't sloppy drunk, since both Angel and Terrence had shared the bottle with him, but he definitely wasn't sober.

He smiled widely at one of Belle's girls as she descended the stairs from the third floor. She was nowhere near the paying customers, yet she already had a little extra shimmy in her walk. What was her name? Laura? Lara? Laureen? Whatever her name was, she was one fine looking woman, and had given Bobby the night of his life several months back. She boldly matched his smile and paused to stand with him on the landing between the second the third floors. She ran a hand across his chest to his shoulder before squeezing his biceps and whispering a saucy suggestion in his ear. Bobby felt the thrumming effects of her request through the pleasant haze of the whisky and regretted that he couldn't take her up on her offer. He leaned in for a consolation kiss, even as he shook his head no. When Jack was a bit better, after his fever broke, Bobby would seek her out and make up for this lost opportunity. The girl smiled as he moved away from her and swatted him playfully on the ass as his foot hit the first stair. He was still chuckling when he entered Jack's sickroom.

* * *

Charlotte had spent the evening reading a book of poems aloud to the slumbering Jack and then knitting when her eyes grew tired. The repetitive motion and gentle clacking of the needles soothed her nerves. Every half hour or so, she wrung out the wet cloth she had placed on Jack's neck and wet it anew with cool water, replacing it after soothing his fevered skin. The laudanum had done its job, helping Jack rest peacefully as his body fought off the infection from the wounds on his back. Thankfully, the infection was a mild one, and her timely scrubbing had cleared it away before it could worsen. She would check it again when Bobby returned.

She smiled as she thought about Bobby Mercer. That one was tough as nails, and had enough anger in him to take on a wild grizzly bear if he got the notion. He was a very dangerous man. And yet he loved his brother Angel with the same degree of fierceness, and woe to anyone who treated Angel with disdain. She wondered what had happened to Bobby to seed the anger so deeply in his bones, and how he had come to call Angel his brother. Charlotte wasn't the type to pry, but the mystery of the Mercer brothers was just the thing to make her forget herself and seek out gossip. Perhaps Lucita knew something of them, having spent so much time with Angel? Charlotte didn't think Belle had spent nearly enough time with either of the Mercer boys to have learned anything, but could count on her old friend to share what she knew. Terrence would be useless. He didn't have a curious bone in his body, and besides, he was far too discreet to share anything he did know. Charlotte had just decided to seek out Lucita some time the next day and find out what she knew when Jack began to stir.

The boy shifted his legs beneath the sheets and pulled the pillow in his arms a bit closer to his chest, rubbing his cheek along its edge. Charlotte glanced towards the clock on the mantel above the fireplace and saw that it had been nearly twelve hours since she had initially dosed him. She would wait for him to wake up a bit more before trying to feed him some beef tea and get as much water into him as possible before giving him any more laudanum. He would probably still be hurting, but his head just might be clearer than before.

Thoughts of before got her to thinking about Bobby Mercer again. He was dangerous, it was true, but his anger had certainly served its purpose in the past. The night Belle's devil of a husband had nearly killed Belle, Charlotte thought that Bobby was an avenging angel sent from heaven to bring retribution down on the bastard's head -- and Charlotte had only seen him _after_ the fight was over! Belle had confessed nearly the same feelings about Bobby's appearance to Charlotte that night, and together they decided that a man such as Bobby was best treated carefully. And then Belle went ahead and turned him into a friend! He was much too young to strike Belle's fancy, but Belle always did have a way with men of any age. She told Charlotte that Bobby Mercer had a deep respect for women, which she said came from his Mama, but Charlotte knew he was still a half-wild boy, grown up into a man and taught some manners, who could explode at any moment. She had caught a glimpse of just that sort of explosion that very morning, and never wanted to see that again. All in all, she was mighty pleased that he seemed to like her, in his own impudent way.

Jack murmured in his sleep, speaking nonsense words. Charlotte dipped the cloth into the now-tepid water and bathed his face and neck again. She brushed the cloth over his lips, pleased to see him lick at the moisture there. She moved to the kettle warming by the fire and carried it back to the bedside table, choosing some of the herbs on her tray to mix in with the bubbling water.

Jack's connection to Bobby was another mystery. She hadn't questioned Belle when she had asked Charlotte to prepare herself for an injured man who would be arriving shortly with Bobby Mercer. She had passed Angel Mercer in the hall as she went to prepare the room in which she now sat with Jack, and reckoned he had relayed the message. She half-suspected the injured party would be one of Bobby's victims, brought here in an impulsive act of compassion. She never imagined this poor battered boy, lost in a fever as he was cradled by the toughest man she knew. It seemed the savage protectiveness Bobby felt towards Angel had now encompassed Jack as well. The welts, bruises and cuts on his body told Charlotte much of Jack's story -- and confirmed for her their brief acquaintance. Bobby would never have harmed this boy. She was determined to draw out the rest of their story from Lucita and Belle the next day. She wet the cloth again and fed Jack drops of water before bathing his hot forehead and cheeks.

She heard a soft knock on the door just before Laura poked her head in to see if Charlotte needed anything. Charlotte thanked her and asked that some cold water be brought up for Jack's compresses. She heard Laura relay the request to the man who stood guard at the end of the hall and his acknowledgement before Laura shut the door again. A few minutes later, as she slowly stirred the herbal mixture to blend the medicinals in the tea, Bobby Mercer entered the room with a huge smile on his face. Charlotte longed to ask him about that smile, ask him about everything which so intrigued her, and wished she could affect the teasing manner that Belle and the other women here managed so easily and which yielded such fine results on the opposite sex. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him, and quirked a half smile of inquiry. He raised his eyebrows right back at her and then winked. She turned back to the kettle before he could see her blush. Thankfully, Jack shifted again moments later, this time letting out a sigh, which drew Bobby's attention to the boy and away from Charlotte, giving her time to regain her businesslike composure. In all her years and experiences, Charlotte Spencer never had learned to flirt.

Bobby moved to the opposite side of the bed and hitched one leg up so he was resting at Jack's back. He reached out and pulled the cloth from Jack's forehead.

"Hey, Jackie, you waking up there, buddy?" he asked. Jack turned his head at the sound of Bobby's voice.

"He's been stirring a bit, but I don't think he'll wake completely. He's still fevered, but better than before. He's taken some drops of water, though, and I'd like to get him to drink as much as we can get in him before we let him sleep again," Charlotte told him. Bobby graced her with another smile, and together they rearranged the pillows around Jack so he was sitting up. The door opened and a girl from the kitchen entered with a jug of water, leaving as quickly as she had come. It was the busiest time of the night for serving girls at Belle's.

Between the two of them, Charlotte and Bobby cajoled, coaxed and downright forced a cup of water, a cup of beef tea and most of the cup of medicinal tea Charlotte had prepared for him earlier. Jack began to struggle in earnest against their efforts when they made him drink the harsh-tasting concoction. Even the generous dollop of honey which Charlotte eventually added to mask the bitter taste did nothing to help with their efforts.

Charlotte had maintained a steady stream of encouraging words and praise as they fed Jack each of the drinks, but Bobby adopted a different approach. He teased Jack, calling him a fairy princess, one who was waited on by long-suffering servants who were about to stage a protest. He used language that Charlotte might have objected to had it not proved so effective. More aware since drinking the water and the beef tea, Jack would turn his head towards Bobby's voice and his mouth would open -- whether to reply or object, Charlotte never knew, since she would push the cup to his lips and silence whatever words Jack might have attempted. Bobby found this pattern terribly amusing and taunted the boy all the more, laughing throughout. When Jack adamantly refused the tea, despite all their efforts, Charlotte poured a small measure of laudanum and showed it to Bobby, who launched into the most outrageous description of Jack's fairy princess-like attributes yet. Jack was tiring fast from his momentary lucidity, but gamely attempted to defend himself one last time. Charlotte and Bobby had the teamwork down pat by now, though, and the laudanum was down Jack's throat in moments, and all the boy could manage was a tired grimace.

Bobby sat back with a pleased sigh, then reached over and ruffled Jack's already messy hair.

"Don't worry, Jackie. You can get me back for this when you're feeling better. You'd better start eating more than tea for supper, though. You stay scrawny like you are and you'll never get the best of me."

"Will too," Jack whispered.

"Right. I've met alley cats bigger than you are, buddy." Jack merely sighed and closed his eyes.

"We're going to change your bandages now, Jack," Charlotte interjected before Bobby could taunt him any further. Thus far, Jack had responded well to Bobby, but Charlotte couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern that Jack acted so out of fear.

The gentleness Bobby displayed as he manipulated Jack so Charlotte could inspect and re-bandage Jack's wounds belied his earlier harsh words and eased Charlotte's concerns somewhat. She thought that Jack had fallen asleep by the time Bobby propped Jack's head onto his own shoulder and held him in a loose embrace as she attended to the boy's back. She was wrong.

All her concerns melted away as she watched Jack lift his arms and clumsily place them around Bobby's middle to return his embrace. Jack's contented sigh and the bemused expression on Bobby's face told her everything she needed to know about Jack's safety with Bobby Mercer. The accompanying pang in her heart, though, made her want to know so much more.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Angel sprinted the last hundred yards or so to Belle's, darting around obstacles in the street and listening to Hank stumbling along behind him, barely keeping up. At this point, Angel could not have cared less if Hank fell flat on his face and was stabbed to death where he lay. Their flight was all his fault and Angel was supremely pissed.

Angel had come to realize over the course of the evening just how masterful his brother Bobby was at his craft. Angel's work required his backup man to provide the threat of violence without the overt hostility which would dry up Angel's games -- or in this instance, clam up every person Angel tried to speak with. If it wasn't for that one man who was too drunk to even _see_ Hank, let alone be frightened by him, the night would have been a total loss. Angel had gotten an earful from the drunkard before Hank had started his third bar fight of the fucking evening. A quick flash of cash had helped them avoid any penalties after the earlier two melees, but Angel would be damned before he spent another dime due to Hank's ineptitude. No wonder the idiot had the night off from Belle's. If Angel had anything to say about it, Hank would have every night in the foreseeable future off.

Angel slowed to a trot a block away from Belle's, letting Hank catch up with him but glowering fiercely lest Hank think he wanted yet another apology from him. Angel had readily believed in Hank's remorse after the first fight. After all, it really might have been the case that the patron had tripped and landed directly on Hank's knuckles. Angel had heard that line from Bobby a time or two, and he tended to believe his brother. After this third fiasco, though, Angel wasn't buying Hank's innocent expression, and if the goddamned man uttered one more word about whose fault the fight really was, Angel was going to fucking flatten him. With a crow bar.

Angel leaned over to rest his hands against his knees, breathing harshly. That last bar had been filled with some former soldiers who really knew how to fight, and who were also quite friendly with the local law. Just his luck that the owner happened to be _both_ a former soldier and friendly with the local law, and Angel was stuck with a fucking moron to watch his back who decided to pick a fight with them. . . all of them! Running had been the only option at that point. No amount of money would have calmed the storm Hank had stirred up, and Angel was not willing to wait to find out which side of the Great Conflict the soldiers fought on. Angel Mercer was a master at betting his money, but he was not prepared to bet with his life.

By the time his breathing had returned to normal and his heart stopped threatening to leap straight out of his chest, Angel determined that they had lost their pursuers, and so would not be tied to Belle's. He waited a few minutes more, wondering if his reputation would take a hit from this incident. He hadn't thrown a single punch all evening, but Hank's looming presence at his back while he chatted up the patrons might come back to bite him in the ass. The closest he had come to fighting was when he yanked Hank out of that last bar by his suspenders and got clipped on the cheek with an errant fist for his troubles. Angel had paused and cocked his fist before deciding that retreat was the wise option. Angel considered leaving Hank there to get stomped, but didn't know how Belle or Terrence would take the news if he came back alone. For all he knew, the fool was a relative. Angel sure didn't know how he could have gotten his job otherwise.

Angel rubbed a hand over his sore cheek and motioned to Hank to follow him as they walked the last block to Belle's at a much more normal pace. Terrence was sitting out on the porch enjoying a cigar in the mild night air and waved them over to join him. Angel took a seat in an old rocking chair and glared at Hank until the man excused himself and went inside. Angel politely declined Terrence's offer of a cigar for himself and just sat for a while, trying to cool his temper before he said things about Hank to Terrence he might regret later. Angel found it best to get a bit of perspective on situations before speaking his mind. If he was still bitter about Hank's behavior after a good night's sleep -- preferably in Lucita's bed -- then he would speak to Terrence or Belle about the man. He sure as hell was not going to tell Bobby lest Hank wind up floating face down in the Bay. For now, he would keep his peace and let the man stew a bit. Angel loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his vest, crossed his legs and rested his hat over his knee. He pushed off against the floorboards until he achieved a gentle rocking motion with the chair that did as much to soothe his nerves as ranting to Terrence ever would.

"Bad night?" Terrence offered.

"Lively," Angel replied. Terrence nodded at him as he puffed on the cigar before pausing to tap off the pent up ashes.

"We'll talk after breakfast," Terrence responded. Angel grinned at him and closed his eyes, wishing that Terrence had been the one to accompany him that evening. That was one steady man, and Angel had never seen him get ruffled by _anything_. Angel understood why Bobby couldn't go -- Angel himself had insisted Bobby remain at Belle's, on the off-chance Pollard might recognize Bobby from the stables. If Pollard cottoned to their plan before the time was right, then the opportunity to inflict the retribution that Bobby wanted so badly would be lost. With the scraps of information Angel had gleaned from his single drunken source, a plan had gelled in his brain. It was a good plan, but could use one more night of Angel's reconnoitering before Bobby got to do what Bobby did best.

Angel had gained a whole new level of appreciation for his brother that night, and would make sure to remember what a blessing it truly was to be a brother to Bobby Mercer. Angel already loved his brother, but hadn't reflected on Bobby's part in their unlikely team for a while. No more. After the sheer idiocy he had witnessed from Hank, Angel swore he would never take Bobby and his unique skill set for granted again.

"So where's my brother keeping himself tonight? He taking it easy?' Angel asked Terrence.

"Last I saw he was upstairs with Miss Laura."

"That so?" Angel replied. "Jack must be on the mend, then."

"Seems to be. Miss Spencer was sitting with the boy most of the night 'fore Bobby went up to check on him. Didn't hear any shouting like before, so the boy must be okay. Your brother came downstairs a while later and seemed pleased as punch to see Miss Laura was available. Took her straight upstairs."

"He did, did he? Bobby Mercer is just full of surprises these days." Angel knew Bobby was in no way a prude, but merely suffered by comparison to his own voracious sexual appetite. Angel took advantage of every opportunity to spend quality time with a willing woman, while Bobby was far more picky. Bobby was a bit closer to Jerry in that respect than he was to Angel. After Jerry met his wife Camille, Angel couldn't even joke with him about going to a whore house for the night, and that was before he had even married her! Angel figured it would be the same for Bobby whenever he met his own Camille. In the meantime, though, he was happy his brother was working off some of the bizarre tension which had filled the past week. Bobby would need to be sharp to handle Pollard right, for Jack's sake as well as to quell Bobby's own old demons.

"This city does strange things to a man, Terrence," Angel declared. "You changed much since you've been here?" Angel was enjoying the rare occurrence of Terrence being in a somewhat talkative mood.

"Grew up with a preacher for a daddy who wanted me to follow in his footsteps and instead found myself working at the best good house in Frisco. Thought my boss was going to be the good Lord himself, but now I work for a whore and I've never been happier. This is one strange city indeed, my friend. Best get home quick before you end up a priest."

Angel barked out a laugh at the absurd notion, but then spent the next half hour trying to figure out how he could push up the timing of his plan, just in case. Bobby did seem awfully different so far on this trip, and no fucking way was Angel Mercer _ever_ going to take a vow of chastity.

* * *

Bobby had been up for over four hours by the time he saw Angel the next morning. Bobby had wakened before dawn next to a still-sleeping Laura. He didn't begrudge her the extra sleep. All the whisky in his system had made things a bit tricky the night before, but she had pulled out all the stops to insure he enjoyed himself, thoroughly exhausting herself in the process. Bobby reckoned she had enjoyed herself as well, and if not, she was as fine an actress as she was a lover.

Bobby had walked down the hall to Jack's room and poked his head in to assure himself the boy remained sleeping soundly. Jack was curled tightly around a pillow, his flushed face pressed into the linen, which hid many of the bruises peppered across his cheeks. Charlotte was no longer in the room, but the water at Jack's bedside was fresh, the fire was built up, and a rumpled blanket lay on the floor next to the chair where she had been sitting, signaling to him that she had probably remained throughout the night. He would have to find a way to thank her properly for her excellent care of Jack. Maybe Belle would give him an idea about how to go about doing just that? He'd find her later and ask.

Bobby sat with Jack for a little while, just long enough to make sure his breathing was easy and his sleep untroubled. Jack still felt fevered when Bobby reached out to feel his forehead, but it was no longer the burning heat from the day before. Jack was definitely on the mend. He was also very deeply asleep and appeared as though he would remain so for a while. Charlotte must have given him some more laudanum some time earlier. Bobby gave Jack's hair a quick ruffle before he left the room. They'd have to get the boy to a decent barber before heading home, or Ma would think he and Angel had adopted a wild animal.

Bobby wandered down to the stables after that, grabbing a biscuit and a cup of coffee from the kitchen as a quick breakfast. He'd eat a real breakfast later once Angel crawled out from Lucita's bed and finally greeted the day. Marauder seemed happy to see him, and eager for some exercise. Bobby saddled the black beast and took off on a brisk trot around the city, pleased to note that Marauder's hoof seemed right as rain. He saw a few likely places to take Jack to get him some new clothes, as well as a tannery where they could get him boots that would actually fit him. He hoped Jack hadn't gotten too attached to the money he'd lifted from Pollard. Bobby was sure Angel would chip in some of his extra winnings, and he was prepared to turn over a bit of his share, but they needed to outfit the boy from head to toe, which sounded awfully expensive. Bobby figured he could get Angel to handle the shopping and the haggling over prices, then tried to gauge the odds of Jack coming back dressed like a damned miniature banker. He sighed aloud as he realized he would probably have to go shopping with Angel to save Jack from that indignity.

After giving one of the stable boys a coin to go make sure Angel was up and would meet him in the dining room for breakfast, Bobby gave Marauder a good long rub down. Angel would take a while to get himself prettied up enough to be seen in public, and his horse had been stuck in a stable longer than Bobby would have liked. That done, he grinned at the rumpled clothing and exhausted faces on a group of men who were retrieving their horses from several stalls down. They bumbled through their preparations, likely still half-drunk, and Bobby would bet that whichever girls had entertained those scoundrels wouldn't make it downstairs until well past noon. He had been in that very situation a time or two himself. It was all a happy haze of feeling and memory throughout the morning after, but come tonight those men would be seriously hurting. He shouted an overly loud greeting at the most ashen-faced of the lot and then snickered all the way in to the house. He was sure the fellow's friends would pick him up out of the hay once he recovered from his faint.

Angel was sipping on some coffee when Bobby arrived in the dining room. He looked fresh enough for having been roaming the city in the wee hours of the morning, and greeted Bobby with a smile, but kept the left side of his face turned away. Bobby reached over the table, grabbed Angel's chin and wrenched his head around so he could see what Angel was hiding, ignoring his brother's protests.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Bobby demanded.

"Nothing, Bobby. Jesus!" Angel smacked Bobby's hand away from him and fingered his jaw where Bobby's fingers had dug in. "You'll hurt me worse than a stupid bar fight with your damned grabbing."

"What bar fight? Where the fuck was Hank during this bar fight?" Bobby stared hard at Angel, noting his furtive glance around the room before he affected an air of nonchalance. Bobby had never once been fooled by that look, and was disappointed in Angel for even trying to hedge the truth.

"Hank was standing in between me and the fights, just like you told him to do. One of them got a little hectic is all, and I caught a stray fist."

"One of them? How many fucking bar fights were you in last night?" Angel swallowed hard. He looked as if he might start in on another line of bullshit, even opened his mouth to speak before clamping his jaw shut. Finally, he rolled his eyes at Bobby.

"Nothing you need to worry about Bobby. I'm going to handle it."

"_Going_ to handle it? Did Hank actually get a good night's sleep last night after fucking up what we paid him good money to do? I taught you better than that, Angel. Jesus, if you were going to be a sissy about it yourself, you could have gotten me out of bed to hold your fucking hand so you didn't wet yourself."

"Dammit Bobby, shut up for a fucking minute and listen to me. I told you, I will handle it. Calm yourself the fuck down and try to remember that I am twice as smart as you and know how to handle situations like this. This one calls for a bit of discretion. Not that you and discretion ever had even a nodding acquaintance. . ." Angel snorted at his own wit, and Bobby leveled a stare at him, one designed to end further argument. After a long moment, Angel sighed and nodded, accepting the truce that it was. He got the message that if he didn't deal with Hank, then Bobby would, at which point no discretion at all would be employed.

"So," Bobby asked him, "what'd you find out last night when you weren't dodging fists?" Angel threw him a sour look at the dig, but then sat up a bit straighter in his seat, his game face on.

"Enough, and I've got a plan."

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Bobby knew he was right to have called Angel a clever son of a bitch. Bobby had imagined elaborate plots which hinged on sheer luck or happenstance, or large sums of bribe money changing hands to locate Pollard. That was why Bobby was a clever son of bitch himself in bringing Angel in on jobs which required any planning. Angel had a devious mind and could get right down to the meat of an issue in no time flat. Bobby also knew that Angel could sometimes be a lazy son of a bitch, so his brother would inevitably think of the simplest way to get what they wanted. Their current plan was elegant in its simplicity.

The drunkard who had chatted with Angel the night before remembered being made an offer on Sunday morning which had sent him on his current bender. The offer had been some illicit companionship, the offeror matched Pollard's description, and the man had been unsettled enough by the notion of a boy being used that way to settle in with a bottle of Red Eye. That he remained drunk days later was testament to the man's principles. What he lacked in restraint, he made up for in moral character. The drunkard had seen Pollard chatting amiably with the daytime bartender and he figured they were friends, likely friends enough to know where one might find one Horace Pollard.. Angel got a description of the bartender right before all hell had broken loose in Hank's third and final bar fight of the evening. Provided the man worked his shift that day, Angel figured he'd be able to get Pollard's location from him. Anyone unscrupulous enough to be friends with a man like Pollard would certainly be amenable to a few extra coins. After they finished eating, Angel was headed over to the bar to chat with the bartender and learn what he could. Then the fun could start.

Just as Bobby and Angel were about to leave the dining room, Charlotte entered the room, gesturing them over to where she stood.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them evenly.

"Miss Spencer." Angel pulled his hat off and gave her a big smile.

"Charlotte."

Bobby noted Angel's sidelong glance at his familiar greeting but ignored it. He was more concerned with why Charlotte was there. Was something wrong with Jack? Had his fever gotten worse? He had seemed to be getting better... Was he calling out for Bobby again? Bobby couldn't hear anything, but Jack was three stories up. He had moved several steps towards the stairs when Charlotte's voice stopped him.

"You can take that look off your face and calm down, Bobby Mercer. Jack is fine," she said quickly. "I never would have taken you for a mother hen type," she teased. Bobby heard Angel snort next to him and kicked him hard in the shin. Angel's startled yelp was a fleeting satisfaction as he glanced at Charlotte and felt his face redden at the look on her face. Charlotte Spencer was smirking at him. Smirking! Angel moved a safe distance away before adding his own chuckles to her soft laughter. He glared menacingly at them both.

"Oh, now don't be mad, Bobby. It's touching to see how much you care for the boy. Poor Jack has lived such a hard life, and was treated so badly. You don't know how pleased I am that you've taken him under your wing like you have." Charlotte seemed genuinely sorry to have distressed Bobby, and he might have softened his stare if not for Angel's mocking retort.

"It's a touching sight, Miss Spencer, truly it is, to see our Bobby blossom into such a good Christian soul. Seems all Bobby needed was a chance to let his tender side out." Angel paused and heaved a dramatic sigh before continuing. "Why, he may surprise us all and turn into a right fine gentleman one of these days." Bobby heard his own knuckles crack under the strain of his clenched fists. It might not happen here and now, but Angel was going to get it, but good. He was barely holding back the curses which hovered just behind his clenched teeth. If only Charlotte wasn't right there, he would. . .

"Angel Mercer, I do understand sarcasm when I hear it. I was being entirely serious, and you should be ashamed of yourself for mocking your brother like that." Charlotte used the paper in her hand to whack Angel's arm. He likely couldn't even feel it through his jacket, but Charlotte had made her point. Angel mumbled an apology to the floor before nodding briskly at Charlotte and turning away. He rolled his eyes at Bobby as he passed him, heading out the back way towards the stables. Bobby would catch up with him soon enough. Right now, though, he gave his full attention to Charlotte.

Bobby wanted to laugh out loud, but held his tongue. A perplexing feeling had overcome him as he listened to Charlotte defending him. His fists had unclenched, his teeth had stopped grinding and a warmth had spread from his scalp down the nape his neck. He usually only felt like this after he'd downed a shot of whisky on an empty stomach.

Angel teased him all the time. Hell, they were brothers, they were _supposed_ to annoy the hell out of each other until their mother knocked their heads together. Bobby would normally have popped Angel in the mouth for his sass, or knocked him on his ass if he was outright disrespectful. It was a very different feeling to have their brotherly banter cut off by someone who was on _Bobby's _side of the argument for a change. Ma tended to side with Angel if only because he was younger than Bobby. So was Jerry, but only by a few years. She had high expectations for her eldest boy, and even though he usually disappointed her, she still kept expecting the best from him. Seems like Charlotte did, too. Quite unexpectedly, by Bobby's reckoning, since he didn't think he'd done anything but annoy her from the first time they met. Maybe there was a grain of truth inside of Angel's bullshit, and Jack was bringing out a better side of Bobby Mercer? Well, as long as he didn't turn into some kind of namby pamby asshole, then maybe that would be okay.

Bobby stood grinning at Charlotte for a long minute before she seemed to realize she was staring at him and she quickly turned her attention to the paper in her hand. She cleared her throat as she looked down at the handwriting on the page.

"Bobby, I don't like to be presumptuous, but we need to talk about Jack." Bobby dropped his smile. She sounded serious.

"I don't know everything about how Jack came to be traveling with you and Angel, but it seems his possessions got. . . lost. . . somewhere along the way, and since I used my shears on what appear to be his only set of clothes, well, we're in a bit of a pickle now." Bobby felt his smile return, and saw Charlotte return it.

"Unless you want Jack to walk the streets wrapped up in nothing but a sheet, he's going to need some new clothes," Charlotte said. Bobby snickered at the ridiculous image of Jack wearing a sheet for clothing, pleased to see that Charlotte was grinning, too.

"It was on my list of things to do today, Charlotte, I promise. I was going to have Angel help me out with the haggling. Even saw a place while I was out riding this morning."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Well, if you have a place in mind, then by all means, you're free to make your own choice. . ."

"But, you have someplace in mind?" Bobby guessed. Her face brightened.

"Yes I do. A friend of mine runs a shop which just so happens is next to a tannery. Such a smell that place gives off! My friend gets hardly any business, and she does such good work. I'm sure she'd give you a discount if you mentioned my name." Charlotte looked so hopeful just then, Bobby could do nothing save agree to patronize her friend and thank her kindly for the suggestion. The paper she held in her hands was filled with measurements she had taken while Jack was soundly asleep. Bobby knew that Jack would become more self-conscious the healthier he got. Having nothing but a sheet and blanket to shield you from the world seemed like a pretty crappy situation to be in, and Bobby could easily make that right for Jack. He patted his pocket, feeling the bulge from the bag of coins Jack had stolen from Pollard. It would be money well spent.

He took the paper from Charlotte and strode back to his table to fetch his hat. As he walked towards the door, he noticed she still stood in place, her hands clasped together and a pensive look on her face. He almost walked past her, imagining she had something else on her mind, but something made him move towards her instead.

"Need something else?" he asked her. It was an innocent enough question, but oh, how he wished he had walked away. Later, he would reflect on the foolishness of not following his instincts. For years they had kept him alive, in generally good health and out of the kinds of situations he found himself in for the better part of the afternoon.

Charlotte wanted to go shopping with him. _Fuck!_

The worst part of it was that as soon as Angel discovered this, he swiftly agreed to meet them there, delighting Charlotte and sending Bobby's mood plummeting further downwards. Angel would go get the dirt on Pollard from the bartender as quickly as possible then join them to add his invaluable assistance in choosing Jack's new wardrobe. He would not be dissuaded, despite reassurances from Charlotte that Bobby was company enough and a simmering glare from Bobby. He kicked his horse into a trot, tipping his hat to Charlotte as she took Bobby's arm to descend the stairs, and Bobby could swear he heard Angel's laughter as his brother rode away.

* * *

Angel tied his horse in front of Charlotte's friend's shop, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell emanating from the tannery which, while not right next door, was still close enough to the little store to drive away all the but the most determined of customers. If Angel wasn't intrigued by the notion of Bobby Mercer in a garment shop picking out clothing, he might have opted for a less pungent location. Once inside, the smell was less noticeable, but still there. He called out a greeting as he entered, but finding the front room empty, he moved further into the building, peeking cautiously into each room before entering, just in case there were other customers besides Bobby and Charlotte in there. In the room closest to the back of the shop, he finally found his brother and the two women, deciding immediately that it would have been worth _swimming_ through the tannery to enjoy the scene in front of him.

Bobby sat on a chair in the middle of the room, his head in his hands, his abject misery apparent in his defeated posture. He was wearing a new blue shirt, new black pants and vest. His boots were missing, and fine socks adorned his feet A tie was strung loosely around his neck, whether in preparation for tying or having recently been loosened, Angel couldn't tell. In a chair next to Bobby was a stack of parcels neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. A new pair of boots and a hat lay on the chair as well, presumably all for Jack. How the fitting had gone from buying clothes for Jack to attiring Bobby, Angel had no clue, but _damn!_ was he happy he was there to see it. Several other options for shirts and pants were strewn across Bobby's lap and around him on the floor. Angel would have loved to know whether the ladies actually got him into those outfits, and if so, what they had said. He'd have to corner Charlotte later and find out. He'd hear the choirs of angels in heaven singing his welcome before he heard anything about this excursion from Bobby.

Angel knew that his tough as nails, pain in the ass, vulgar, crude, beloved older brother would be back in true form once they got home. Hell, he'd probably turn into the Bobby Mercer Angel knew and lamented the moment they passed the Frisco city line. Angel was enjoying seeing this different side of Bobby. Bobby could never be considered soft. . . but there was something _less hard_about him lately. His reactions to Jack were the most obvious part of this transformation. When Bobby wanted to show Angel brotherly love, he tended to use his fists. The brothers were old enough now that the older brother/little brother harassment thing was getting a bit tired. Angel had waited so long to be on equal footing with Bobby, but had never quite gotten there before this trip. He knew Bobby respected his skills and they genuinely enjoyed eachother's company, but the edge of superiority which Bobby always hung over his little brother was finally missing.

Charlotte and her friend Kate were over at the far end of the room. Kate was holding up some material which Charlotte brushed at with her hands, her soft words not carrying over to where Angel stood, but the wistful expression on her face enough for him to tell she wanted that cloth but wouldn't buy it. Sure enough, Kate set aside the roll of fabric and picked up another. Angel heard Bobby's frustrated sigh and stifled a chuckle. He backed out the door as quietly as he could, then strode in as though he had just arrived, calling out a greeting.

Bobby leapt up from the chair like a scalded cat, sending the clothes flying from his lap and reaching for the gun which rested atop his boots in the corner instead of at his hip. On seeing Angel, he relaxed his fighting stance, then seemed to realize the picture he presented and his expression darkened. For the first time in his life, Bobby was dressed far more like Angel than not. Bobby's chin rose and his eyes seemed to dare his brother to make a comment. Angel was just about to liken Bobby to a _fucking peacock_ -- one of Bobby's favorite phrases for Angel -- when he was interrupted by Kate bustling over to greet him, Charlotte trailing her.

"What a sight for sore eyes you are, Angel Mercer. Charlotte told me you were a sharp dresser, but you're one to take the sight out of my eyes, handsome as you are." Kate boldly took Angel's face in her hands and kissed him on both cheeks before stepping back and giving him a good long look up and down his body. Angel felt a blush which began at his face and stole down throughout his body at her glance. _Jesus!_ He felt like a steak on the plate of a starving man. He shuffled back a few steps, half-tripping over the clothes on the floor in his effort to put the chair which held Jack's things in between Kate and himself. Bobby watched Angel's clumsy move and burst out laughing. Charlotte smiled serenely at them all.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Angel said, his manners taking over once he'd gained the minimal protection of the chair. If Kate was offended by his retreat, she never showed it, continuing her examination of his body while Angel glared at Bobby. His fool brother was still laughing. Kate reached over the chair and ran a hand across his shoulder and down his arm, cooing over the fabric of his jacket.

"I-I-I-I beg your pardon, Miss Kate, but I'm a little confused here. . ." Angel began, which only set Bobby to laughing all the harder. Charlotte never blinked as Kate unfastened the buttons on Angel's jacket and slipped it off his shoulders, quick as a thought. She spent a few minutes examining the jacket inside and out before turning her attention back to Angel, all while Angel was trying to catch Bobby's eyes. His brother avoided looking at him, just kept chuckling. Angel slapped a hand over his shoulder holster when she made a move to unbuckle it and took several steps away from the mad woman, sending Bobby a desperate glance as he did so. _What the fuck was going on?_

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop that, Miss Kate, and tell me what you're doing," Angel demanded.

"But Bobby said. . ." Kate started.

"Bobby _suggested_ that Angel might be more interested in your wares than Bobby, but that didn't stop you from dressing up Bobby like a doll, _did it_?" Great, now Bobby was talking about himself in the third person. A kinder, gentler Bobby was a wonderful thing, but a batshit crazy Bobby. . . not so much.

Kate seemed to consider this license to continue, since she had unfastened Angel's belt and was about to pull it out of its loops when he yelped and moved even further away from her, this time putting Bobby in between them, generating further mirth from Bobby. _What the fucking hell was happening?_

"Jesus Christ Bobby, can you fill me in here? What is going on?" Bobby looked over at Charlotte and jerked his head towards at Kate. Charlotte nodded, then approached Kate and shepherded her into the far corner of the room again, picking up the discarded bolt of cloth to distract Kate. It worked, and Angel darted over to retrieve his jacket from where Kate had dropped it on the floor before rejoining Bobby.

"Seriously Bobby, what the fuck?" he asked as he brushed the wrinkles out of the jacket before slipping it back on.

"Relax Angel. Jesus, you'd think you were a virgin prude the way you reacted."

"I don't usually get undressed by some crazy woman in front of you and Charlotte Spencer, so you'll forgive me if I was a bit thrown." Bobby started giggling again even as he glanced over at the women across the room. Angel looked at his brother, over at Kate and Charlotte, then back at Bobby before starting to chuckle himself, more in relief than amusement.

"Don't think I couldn't see you blushing, Angel. Two more minutes and you would've had sweat running down your face. Admit it!"

"Shit yes, I would have been sweating. . . sweating from running the fuck away from this crazy house and my batshit crazy brother. I'm not kidding Bobby, what is the deal with this woman." The twinkle didn't leave Bobby's eyes, but his laughter stopped.

"Kate used to work at Belle's." That made sense to Angel, considering the brazen way she'd kissed him and undressed him so easily. "But she really is crazy. Didn't used to be this way, obviously, but something just changed in her a few years ago. Charlotte tries to bring her business so she doesn't end up in the gutter or worse. Once you get used to her, you'll see she's a pretty good seamstress. We bought a boat load of stuff for Jack, and got the hat and boots next door."

"So you didn't decide to get yourself a set of Sunday clothes on your own, then?"

"Fuck no. You've seen how she operates. Had me down to my underpants in less than a minute. If it wasn't so funny watching Charlotte try to stop Kate while trying _not_ to look at me, I might have been angrier." Angel noted that Bobby seemed rather smug about scandalizing Charlotte like he did. _How about that?_

"Kate's harmless, Angel. We got Jack kitted out at a pretty steep discount, and didn't even need your sweet talking mouth to do it. She got to play dress up with me and avoid the poor house for another week with Jack's gold. Unless you need any more clothes, let's get out of here."

"You buying those?" Angel asked, spreading his hands out to indicate Bobby's outfit. He got an eye roll and a snort from Bobby in reply. "You look good, Bobby. Those aren't just Sunday clothes, they're _courting_ clothes. I think you need to get them."

"Don't fucking start, Angel. Not now. I was used like a goddamn rag doll while you were off having fun talking to _sane_ people in a bar. You do not want to fucking start with me on this."

"But you look so handsome," Angel goaded in a sing-song voice, loud enough to draw the attention of the ladies.

"Oh, you agree with me, Angel!" Kate cried out, clapping her hands together. "I just knew you would! No one could dress as finely as you and not see that Bobby simply _must_ have this ensemble." It was Bobby's turn to throw a desperate glance Angel's way. He let Bobby sweat it out for a moment before gravely shaking his head.

"Oh no, Miss Kate. I have to disagree with you, much as it pains me to do so." Angel watched as Bobby's hunted expression softened a bit before continuing. He walked over to the pile of clothes on the floor and fished out what he was looking for, knowing he would pay dearly later.

"Bobby looks _**so**_ much better in red."

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Angel settled his horse in the stables behind Belle's and pulled the parcels out of his saddlebags before making his way into the house and up to Jack's room. He had offered to carry Jack's new things as well as Bobby's new outfit since he had his horse with him and Bobby and Charlotte were on foot. He had also wanted to make a quick getaway before Bobby had a chance to get him away from Kate and Charlotte and pummel him. Angel had known he was playing with fire by teasing Bobby so mercilessly in front of the women, but chances like that were so rare, they simply could not be wasted. Besides, Bobby really did look good in the clothes Kate had picked out for him. The woman might be half-mad, but she did great needlework, and Angel was determined to visit her when he had a bit more money to spend. The funds they were spending by staying at Belle's were cutting into the money Ma needed, and he doubted that he would get a chance to earn any more. His next few nights were going to be spent in a different manner than usual.

The bartender he visited earlier in the day had indeed known Pollard, and was willing to give Angel directions to where the man was staying once Angel explained why he wanted them. It sickened Angel that he had posed as a peddler of "exotic pleasures" to get the address. In all the years he had worked with his Daddy, that was one of the things which was always off-limits, no matter the money that could be made. Angel's father was as unscrupulous a man as existed on this earth, but Angel took a small amount of comfort that his daddy had some limits to his wickedness. There was little else good Angel could think about the man now, despite there being a time when Angel had thought the world of his daddy.

He taught Angel to speak well and later arranged to have Angel learn his letters and numbers. His father had explained to him how "manners make the man" and punished Angel if he was anything less than a perfect little gentleman. He had been dressed like a dandy from the time he could walk without falling over, or so his father told him. The clothing Bobby mocked regularly was as comfortable to Angel as Bobby's old worn boots were to him. Angel couldn't remember a time when he didn't have a deck of cards tucked into a vest pocket. His daddy had taught him to shuffle from both the top and the bottom of a deck and to make them look so similar only another pro could detect it. Angel had learned every card game his daddy could teach him and had never yet met a man who asked for a card game he didn't know how to play and more importantly, how to win.

Cards weren't the only skill he had learned. Speculation swindles were his father's bread and butter during the years following the great Gold Rush of '49. Angel had listened with rapt attention as his father had explained how he crafted lie upon lie and sent eager young men off to California to claim the easy fortunes he sold to them. His father would conjure the name of a mine out of thin air, forge the paperwork needed to prove ownership, and sell it several times over. Angel sometimes wondered if he had ever encountered any of these poor gullible souls. Angel had moved to California seven years ago after his new family had saved him from the mess his father had left him in.

Angel's father had started his son on the path to disrepute at the age of eight with simple card games in crowded saloons. Such a young player was a novelty, and Angel's father took full advantage for as long as that lasted. The little negro boy dressed up like a grown man, with clever little fingers and a clever little mouth on him was the talk of every town they passed through. His daddy had earned a bundle. He spent it just as quickly, on extravagances which diminished his purse to the point where Angel worked entire nights to keep funding his father's lifestyle. Angel never knew what it was like to play in the mud, or tease a girl by pulling her pigtails, or to clap erasers until your eyes watered if you had misbehaved in school. He read about things like that in books, when he wasn't being grilled on the proper calculation of odds when drawing to an inside straight or the effect of a multiple deck on those same odds. Angel's classroom was in the stagecoach rides between towns, or the few hours before dawn when he and his father were too wired to sleep and sat up in their hotel room, the elder teaching the younger yet another strategy to make them more money.

Angel had gained in aptitude, but he also gained in years, and finally the time came when the little dressed up negro wasn't as much of a draw as it once had been. His father's lifestyle hadn't changed, though, so new schemes were fabricated to maintain the status quo. Angel was much more comfortable with the mostly harmless evenings of taking people's money. At least the men got a night's entertainment for their troubles: laughing, drinking whisky and listening to Angel's outrageous stories while playing cards with the engaging young man was worth something. The more elaborate schemes took Angel out of his comfort zone and were much riskier. More times than he could count, he and his father had fled towns with a good bit of the municipality's gold in their saddlebags and a posse on their heels, who would just as soon string them up as take them back for a trial. This continued for a few years, each escape getting stickier as Angel's father got greedier and greedier. Angel dreaded the day their luck would run out while at the same time relishing the thrill of the game and basking in his father's praise for his efforts.

Angel still felt a dropping sensation in his stomach when he thought about that final con gone bad. It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing which had ever happened to him.

Angel and his daddy had made their way to Detroit, where they were drumming up anti-slavery sympathy and collecting donations for the Union soldiers who were fighting and dying for such a noble cause. Angel and his father had posed as former slaves who had fled north to escape the brutality of their former masters. Their gratitude for the men now fighting to free their brethren led to their fundraising efforts, of course. Little did they know that their paths would cross with an actual former slave named Jeremiah Mercer, who felt true gratitude towards those who helped him earn his freedom, and whose generosity was extended to Angel and his father. Jerry's legitimacy and willingness to help was exploited by Angel's father, who quickly tripled the funds they might have earned otherwise. Jerry eventually arranged a meeting with his mother Evelyn and her other son, Bobby. Angel knew almost instantly that this uncharacteristic family was on the level and that his father knew but didn't care. Something about the way Evelyn spoke about her own efforts resonated in Angel and for the first time in his life he felt shame.

Angel had expressed his reservations to his father in the privacy of their hotel room and had earned the very first beating of his life from his beloved daddy in return. The hateful words his father had flung at him along with his fists still stung, even seven years later. Angel was given one more chance by his father to carry on with their venture, _or else_. The words hung between them, a real threat. Angel had tried, he honestly did try, but the burgeoning conscience which Evelyn Mercer had awakened in him and which Jerry added to daily refused to remain silent. As he and Jerry became closer friends, Angel began to subtly undermine his father's efforts, using all the skills the man had taught him, and several times came close to telling Jerry the truth about what was happening. Before he could fully disassemble the plot, though, his father proved to Angel why he was the master con artist and Angel merely a neophyte.

Angel had awakened one morning to a raucous pounding on the door to the hotel room he shared with his father, who was nowhere to be found. Angel was greeted at the door by several deputies who manhandled him out of the room in his bed clothes and straight to jail, where Angel learned he was under arrest for a string of cons dating back several years and running from St. Louis up to Detroit and quite a few places in between. A mysterious letter had been delivered to the authorities the night before which contained specific information on where to find Angel and what he had done. Angel had sat in the cell and cried until his chest ached, not caring as the deputies mocked his tears.

His father had betrayed him. Fucking _betrayed_ him!

His beloved daddy let him take the fall for _everything_ they had done in the past few years. Dates, times, places and people were detailed in the letter. Angel tried desperately to talk his way out of the troubles, but got nowhere. Wires were sent to the various cities and confirmation of his father's schemes was swiftly returned. His father had taken every dime with him, and had spent everything else, so reparations were impossible. Angel had offered to work off the debt, but the only skills he knew were bound to get him back into trouble again. The only thing he had going for him was his youth. At fourteen, he was young enough to earn a bit of leniency where his father would have gotten no such consideration. His father had known that and absolved himself of all his sins by delivering his son to the authorities instead.

For four days, Angel had languished in the cell, awaiting a circuit judge who would try him for his crimes. All that time, Angel refused to betray his father as he had himself been betrayed. He had also refused to see Jerry Mercer, even though the young man came by daily. Angel would roll over and face the wall rather than acknowledge Jerry, who tried to get Angel to explain that everything was a mistake. How could he? It wasn't a mistake. The only mistake was when Angel had doubted his father, had tried to work against his daddy's efforts. Angel prayed his father would come back and give him another chance while at the same time damning him to hell for leaving him here like this.

On the fifth day of Angel's incarceration, Jerry had arrived with both Evelyn and Bobby Mercer in tow. Angel tried as hard as he could to ignore them, but Jerry's pleas, Evelyn's cajoling and Bobby's threats of violence finally got through to him. Somehow, Evelyn got permission from the sheriff to enter his cell and after some further persuasion, finally got the entire story out of him. Angel had ended up wrapped in her embrace while he sobbed out his tale. He had been brave as long as he could, but he was alone now, faced with a string of crimes which might very well see him hung, and all the evidence needed to do just that in a letter his own father had delivered to the sheriff. Evelyn had stayed with him until the deputy insisted she leave. Angel had noticed the deference they showed to her, and wondered why she was bothering with a miscreant like himself. Jerry was incredibly understanding, considering the way he and his past had been used, but Bobby was ready to be judge, jury and executioner at once. Bobby had had as little patience with people messing with his family back then as he still did today. These days, that fact warmed Angel to his bones. Back then, it had terrified him.

Despite years of trying, Angel never discovered what Evelyn had said or done to get Angel released from jail and into her custody. For months afterwards, he had waited for the other shoe to drop, for restitution to be demanded or for Evelyn to finally permit Bobby to kill him as Angel knew Bobby wanted to all along. In return, Angel had acted out, fear driving him into falling back on his old ways, constantly getting into trouble before being bailed out by one of the Mercers. He rejected the name Mercer and continued to use his father's name instead. Evelyn remained extraordinarily patient with him throughout his antics, all the while deflecting his questions about how she came to be his guardian. She offered him a home, a family and her unconditional love. Most importantly, she had some means of controlling Bobby from hurting him whenever the man was home. Bobby spent a good bit of time away from home anyway, off doing something violent, Angel had reckoned.

One night as he and Jerry walked home from the jail where Angel had spent yet another night, further damaging the Mercers' reputation in town, Jerry finally seemed to lose his patience. Jerry angrily accused Angel of spitting in the face of the second chance Evelyn had offered to him. Angel didn't remember exactly what he had said to Jerry in reply -- it was likely full of the vitriol Angel fairly radiated back then, and full of fear that the Mercers would tire of the reclamation project of trying to reform Angel -- but the man he now called his brother had said something Angel would never forget as long as he lived.

Jerry had quietly admitted that he believed Angel had been just as much a slave as Jerry, but with a far crueler master: his own father. Angel had taken a swing at Jerry then, which Jerry had easily dodged. They wrestled, but Jerry had pinned Angel within moments. To this day, Angel had never won a wrestling match with Jerry, despite being younger and stronger. Angel had screamed and struggled as he wept and denied over and over what Jerry had said, all the while knowing in his soul that it was true. Somehow, Jerry had gotten him home to Ma before he had completely lost it.

Angel's healing had finally begun that night. . . the same night he finally called himself a Mercer.

He and Jerry and Ma became closer after that, and even Bobby didn't snarl at him as much. He hadn't become a model citizen overnight, but all the same, he hadn't seen the inside of a jail cell since that fateful night. The Mercers remained in Detroit for about another year until Bobby came home unexpectedly in the middle of the night: bleeding, full of secrets and demanding that they leave town immediately. Angel's prior experience in doing just that proved crucial to the Mercers' successful departure from Detroit. This seemed to raise him in Bobby's esteem, and served as the ice breaker they needed to start building the strong bond of respect and love they enjoyed today. Angel's card skills had made their long trek to California a bit easier as well. Angel had pleaded for weeks as their funds dwindled before Ma would permit him to enter a saloon to ply his trade. With Bobby accompanying him as a strict chaperone and later as a bodyguard of sorts, Angel had won enough money -- legitimately -- to ease their journey considerably. Once he had earned Bobby's stamp of approval, Ma had permitted him to continue his card games, but absolutely prohibited him from anything like the confidence games he had worked with his father. What had begun as a means to keep his father fat and happy now served a more noble purpose among the Mercers. He had never seen or heard from his father again. But that was okay.

Blood counted for nothing to him anymore. . . Angel had found his true family.

* * *

Angel placed the wrapped parcels on the floor and sat in the chair next to Jack's bedside, letting out a sigh as he did so. He watched Jack sleep as he let his thoughts skim over his own past.

Angel knew there was no way he could ever adequately repay the Mercers for saving him. Instead, he would help Bobby save this boy whose life seemed harder than anything Angel had ever known. In doing so, Angel thought Bobby might be able to slay some of his own demons as well. If being a Mercer meant you had a seriously fucked up childhood, then Jack certainly fit the bill.

Besides, it would be nice not being the youngest anymore.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **So sorry for the long delay. As the song goes, "There's One More Angel In Heaven," and that angel is my grandmother. I love you and miss you, Nana, rest in peace.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"You remember me, right?" Angel asked as he pushed a pillow behind Jack to help him sit up.

Angel had been sitting in the room, awaiting Bobby and Charlotte's return when Jack had suddenly awakened with a shout. After attempting to soothe Jack by placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking to the boy, and being met with a flinch, Angel had run to the door to see if Charlotte and Bobby had magically appeared. No such luck. He turned to face the bed, and saw Jack regarding him sheepishly now, the fright gone from his eyes. Jack had muttered an apology, which brought Angel quickly back to his side.

"You're Angel, Bobby's brother," Jack responded, his voice hoarse. Angel poured him a glass of water and sat silently while Jack drained the glass. He refilled the glass and placed it within Jack's reach on the bedside table.

"That's right." Jack looked around the room, glancing to the door quickly before meeting Angel's eyes again. Angel knew immediately what was on Jack's mind.

"Bobby and Charlotte went out to do a bit of shopping. They figured you'd sleep until they got back. Didn't want to worry you."

"I'm not worried," Jack said swiftly, but Angel could see the truth in Jack's eyes. The poor kid had wakened from what was probably a nightmare to be greeted by a man he had only met once before, and briefly at that. He watched as Jack stretched, wincing at the movement. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in and out slowly as he settled himself against the pillows. When he opened his eyes, the pained look was gone, replaced with one of confusion.

"Who's Charlotte?" Jack asked. Angel frowned at that. Charlotte had spent nearly 24 hours with the boy. Hadn't she spoken with him?

"She's the lady who's been taking care of you. Miss Charlotte Spencer. She stitched you up and gave you a bath. Don't you remember?" Jack examined his hands, turning them over and glancing up his arms as if to prove that he had been cleaned up. He lifted the sheet to peer down at his chest and belly, glancing nervously up at Angel then back down again.

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"It's only Monday. Bobby brought you here yesterday morning. That's when I met you, remember, yesterday outside Finley's stable. That was a hell of a thing you did calming that horse down. I don't think I've ever seen such a sight. You're a natural, kid." Jack looked up at Angel, startled. Angel gave him a big grin, and saw the hint of an answering smile on Jack's face.

Angel needed Jack to stop staring at the evidence of his past ill-treatment. Better to focus on the good, Ma always told him. _Deal with the bad stuff as best you can, but you focus on the good things you've accomplished, Angel, and let them guide you to more good things_. It worked for him, and it worked at his tables. Angel made good use of that maxim whenever a sad sack wound up sitting at one of his gaming tables. He'd draw the man out, ask him about his life, and then focus on whatever good bits the man mentioned. Depressed gamblers only brought trouble. Angel had seen enough of the bad in his life, and was content to focus on the good.

Angel watched as Jack brushed a hand across his forehead, noticing the shine of sweat he wiped away in doing so. Angel looked more closely and saw that Jack's chest and neck shone with sweat as well.

"Hey, your fever broke!" he exclaimed. "Maybe Bobby won't kill me when he gets back after all, if he sees how good you're doing." Angel used the wash basin to wet a cloth. He offered the cloth to Jack, and was warmed by the too-grateful look he got in return from the boy. Angel had a feeling Jack hadn't been offered much of anything in his life. Angel pulled off his jacket and laid it across the back of his chair as he supervised while Jack shakily ran the cloth over his skin. He wrung out the cloth in the cool basin of water a few times for Jack, but let the boy handle the job by himself. Angel made a point of strolling over to the window for a long look outside so Jack could be spared any embarrassment when he was finished with his upper body.

"Why is Bobby going to kill you?" Jack asked while Angel was peering up and down the back alley. Jack's room faced the back of the building, and caught the afternoon light. If he had been on the fourth floor in the corner room, Angel knew he could just barely glimpse the Bay if he stood on his tip toes, but no such luck here.

Angel turned back in to the room to see Jack sling the wash cloth into the basin, the sheet and blanket tucked up against his chest now. He seemed exhausted from his efforts.

"Did you get your back at all?" Angel asked. Jack shook his head slowly, staring hard at Angel, and Angel let him stare as long as he needed. He was being measured. After a long minute, Jack smiled tightly.

"I'm scared it might hurt. My back hurts already, and the wash cloth might hurt it more," Jack admitted.

"How 'bout we use something softer then?" Angel offered, moving over to the chair where his coat was. He pulled a silk handkerchief from the pocket and handed it to Jack, chuckling at the astonished look on the boy's face.

"But this is so nice! The water'll ruin it."

"I can tell you from experience that the water won't ruin it. There's a Chinese laundress over on Montgomery Street who can get _anything_ out of silk, and believe me I have tested her skills regularly, what with all the scrapes me and Bobby have gotten in to over the years." Angel smiled broadly at Jack, half pleased to see Jack's answering smile, and half remembering some of the more spectacular "scrapes" he and Bobby had endured.

* * *

Jack could not stop running the cloth over the back of his hand -- back and forth, back and forth -- marveling at how soft the cloth felt against his skin. Jack had been relegated to home spun and hand-me-down denim his entire life, and had been forbidden to touch anything his "mothers" had owned. This man, Angel, was dressed better than anyone Jack had known. He wore a pair of pants which looked just as fine as the handkerchief. They were black with little pinstripes running down the fabric. His shirt seemed cleaner and whiter than anything Jack had ever seen. He wore a pale blue vest with buttons that looked like little pearls, and a gold watch fob ran from one pocket to the other across his chest.

Jack had known few negroes in his life, but most were sullen, angry men. They were former slaves, mad at the world for the life they had led. Angel, on the other hand, was lively and handsome and well-spoken. Jack couldn't imagine why Angel was willing to ruin his silk handkerchief on him, but there he was grinning and reaching out, waiting for Jack to hand back the piece of finery so he could dunk it in the washbasin.

"If you're sure," Jack said to Angel, missing the feel of the silk in his hands.

"Sure I'm sure. When Bobby and Charlotte see what a bang-up job I've done in helping you clean up, then Bobby might forget how I teased him at Kate's."

Jack was well and truly lost in the conversation, and it must have shown on his face, since Angel then launched into an explanation of what had transpired that afternoon while Jack was sleeping. As he told the story, he helped Jack lean forward, piling some pillows in front of him so he could lean on them to avoid pulling at the wounds across his abdomen. Jack was amazed as how soft the cloth felt running up and down his back, and doubly grateful for the gentle touch employed by Angel throughout. Jack could not stop giggling at the image of the fearsome Bobby Mercer being cowed by two women and made to dress up for them in fancy clothes. Angel insisted over and over that he was certainly not embellishing his tale, but Jack stopped believing that when Angel described how Bobby looked in a pearly white ball gown with a matching parasol. Just the _thought_ of it, though left Jack gasping for air through his laughter.

Angel offered to clean Jack's hair for him, and Jack readily agreed. Every other inch of him was cleaner than he had been in months, why not finish the job? Angel had him lie across the bed on his back so his head hung over the side, careful not to pull at any of his healing wounds, and used a cup to wet his hair. Angel used some fancy soap he found in the chest of drawers across the room and lathered up Jack's filthy hair. He scrubbed hard as he got the grime out, then poured on some more soap and switched to a gentler stroke which had Jack's whole body lulled into a floating haze of feeling.

The wild stories had ended, and instead, Angel was humming something softly to himself. The gentle touch, the thoughtfulness of this stranger in helping Jack to clean himself up, the stories Angel told him, all to lift his mood and avoid the awkwardness of their situation, everything suddenly seemed too much for Jack. He felt his emotion swelling in his chest, and tears began to leak from between his tightly closed eyes. He turned his head away from Angel, hoping he hadn't seen the tears, but a hiccuping sob escaped him before he could control himself.

"Hey now, am I hurting you? You okay? Hold on now. . . just one more minute. I'm sorry, Jackie." Angel quickly poured cup after cup of water over his head, sluicing the soap out of his hair with gentle hands.

"I just. . . you're being so nice," Jack whispered fretfully as Angel rubbed a towel softly over Jack's head, tucking it around his shoulders when he finished. Angel climbed up on the bed next to Jack and helped him sit up and settle himself against the pillows again, all the while Jack couldn't stop the tears which streamed down his cheeks and couldn't seem to make his limbs work to help Angel at all. He felt as helpless as a baby, and embarrassed that he was acting like one as well.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say when Angel settled himself in the chair next to the bed.

"Did I hurt you?" Angel asked, his eyes scanning Jack's head and body for signs of any bleeding.

"No, I'm just. . . I don't know. I don't understand." He swiped at the tears on his cheeks, wanting to stop behaving like an infant in front of this man. He hung his head, staring at his clenched fists resting on his lap. _Why did he have to go and screw this up?_

"Jack, look at me." Jack took a deep breath before raising his eyes to meet Angel's, which were very serious, and boring into Jack's.

"You ever had brothers before?" Jack shook his head, surprised by the question.

"Well then, you've got some learning to do about that. Me and Bobby, we came from different places, hard places, and it took us both a good long time to understand what being a brother was all about. You haven't even met Jerry yet, he's another brother, at home with Ma right now, but he came from a hard place, too." Angel stopped and looked down at Jack's clenched fists before looking back up.

"I was 14 when I met Jerry and Bobby and Miss Evelyn for the first time. I'll tell you the whole story one of these days, but it's enough for you to know now that I fought hard against their kindnesses to me. Didn't think I deserved it, or them. Turns out, I did. It just took me a while to figure that out." Jack felt his tears begin anew when Angel reached out and placed his hand on the back of his neck, his fingers massaging the tense muscles there.

"You'll figure things out, too, Jack."

* * *


End file.
